A Misguided Mistake
by darkpartofmydestiny
Summary: After an unexpected encounter on the night of the dinner party, Margaret tries to understand her new feelings for Mr Thornton amidst the trials of life in Milton. A mid canon retelling of North and South with more kissing.
1. Chapter One

Margaret was certain she had never been more uncomfortable in her life. As was traditional, the men and women had splintered away from one another. The men smoked and drank brandy and discussed politics. The women were cast into a different room, left to make small talk about children, or the weather, or dresses. It inevitably descended into a petty competition over who owned the nicest furniture or some such nonsense. It was interminably dull.

It was even worse this evening. After her argument with Mr Thornton at the dinner table, the reception Margaret was currently receiving in this room full of women was frosty to say the very least. Margaret sat in a chair in a corner, staring at her hands lying folded in her lap as the other women spoke to each other and thoroughly ignored her. Mrs Thornton was, of course, furious with her. Margaret had caught the glares from various women when her gaze had strayed from her own hands. Fanny, in particular, was entirely unsubtle in her contempt.

In the hallway, the clock struck ten and Margaret wanted to go home. Her mother would be going to sleep soon, and though there was no great desire to share what had happened at the dinner table, Margaret knew her mother would want to know every detail of exactly what had happened at the dinner party.

Once the clock had finished striking, Margaret stood up. Mrs Thornton caught the movement and turned to her.

"Are you leaving, Miss Hale?" She asked, eyebrow raised as her eyes fixed on Margaret's. "So soon?"

Margaret felt every eye in the room on her, and she stood a little straighter. She would not be intimidated by a room full of women who could not speak up for what was right, for most of them seemed to have no empathy or understanding for the plight of others.

"My mother is not well, and she will be retiring for the night. I would like to go home in time to speak with her." Margaret explained. "I know that she will be eager to hear of this evening."

"The men have not finished." Mrs Thornton pointed out. "I doubt your father is ready to leave.

"I am sure he will be once he realises the time. He will be eager to see her himself. Excuse me for disturbing your conversation. Thank you for a fine evening." Margaret nodded her head. "Goodbye, everyone."

Goodbyes were mumbled and half wished, though not a woman rose to say goodbye properly. Good, Margaret thought. She did not care if they thought her wild or haughty. She did not care what they thought of her at all.

As she left the room and closed the door firmly behind her, Margaret walked slowly down the hallway as she made her way back to the main parlour where the men were. She had only been in the main living room of the house, close to the front door. Thus, this part of the house was unfamiliar. The house felt rather dark and dingy to her - though, so did her own house. Perhaps it was Milton itself that had this effect. The buildings were tightly packed, crammed together in a fashion that meant light did not come into the rooms so easily. Besides, there was rarely any sunshine to speak of in Milton anyway. Everything felt grey, the layer of smoke that covered the city making everything feel dull and unclean.

The wallpaper was quite nice, Margaret conceded. She absently reached out and touched the raised flock of the pattern, before snatching her hand away. She was not a child - it would not do to be touching walls just to see what they felt like.

If she was honest with herself, she had had a little too much wine at dinner. She was not used to it, though it was not the first time she had taken wine with dinner of course. London society drank heavily; the men more so than the women. The men here, too, would be drinking brandy after dinner. Margaret could not stand drunk men; they leered and they made fools of themselves. Her own head felt rather fuzzy, as though it was made of wool.

As she reached the end of the seemingly mile-long corridor, she saw a door to a room she had not noticed before. The light was on inside, the door open a crack but not enough to see inside. Pushing the door slightly and peering round as it swung open, she noted a mahogany desk and a towering bookshelf on the opposing wall. This must be Mr Thornton's study. His bookshelf called to her; she always enjoyed seeing what other people read. You could tell a lot about a man by the books he enjoyed.

"Miss Hale." A sharp voice startled her, and she whipped around.

Mr Thornton stood in the doorway, arms folded as he looked at her. She expected him to be furious, but when she looked at his face, his eyes crinkled and lips quirked as he stared at her with an expression that she dared hope was amusement.

"Mr Thornton. I am sorry, I saw the door open and I could not resist looking at your bookshelves. It was rude of me, and I apologise." Margaret said, eyes downcast.

Her face burned. Of course she had known it was wrong. A man's study was a private place, and though the door had not been closed, she had not been asked in. Though embarrassed, she was glad it was Mr Thornton who had caught her - she did not think Mrs Thornton would be at all amused to find Margaret poking around her son's bookshelves.

"What do you make of them?" He asked, stepping inside and gently kicking the door with his heel so it closed slightly behind him. He joined her, his hand reaching out to touch the spines of the books. "Are they to your taste?"

Margaret looked carefully at the bookshelf in front of her. It was rather tall, though slim, and held around twenty books per shelf. Many of the lower shelves were empty, and the ones around the height of Mr Thornton's chest were jammed full. It seemed a strange use of the space, and she had expected a man as meticulous as Mr Thornton to be more organised.

"You do not have many books, but the ones you do have are quite interesting. I believe we have a similar taste in fiction." She ran her fingers along the spines of the books. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the man standing beside her. "I owe you an apology, Mr Thornton."

"And I owe you one as well. I spoke harshly to you in front of others, and I am sorry. I am sorry I spoke roughly to you at all, but as you can imagine it is something of a sore subject in this house, at that dinner table."

Margaret thought on his words; now it was just the two of them, things did not feel as tense. He did not smile at her, but he did not frown either. He was just staring down at her; though, from the great height at which he stood, that in itself was rather intimidating.

"No, no you spoke with conviction. To be clear, sir - I am not apologising for my basket. I will never regret helping those in need but I do so let my tongue run away with me. My mother will be mortified at my conduct, should my father or Mr Bell tell her. She does not like it when I speak my mind so. She says it is unbecoming of a young lady."

Mr Thornton looked at her, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. He smiled more than she thought he would the first time she had met him. Though he had a fierce temper that seemed to flare easily, she could see the humour in him too. She felt that he teased her sometimes, and she had often heard him make little quips to her father about one thing or another.

"You have beliefs, and you stand by them. There is something I admire about that, though it is no great secret I do not approve of your methods. You don't understand this world, Miss Hale. The union is more dangerous than you realise, brutal in their tactics. I would not want a young lady like yourself to become entangled in such unsavoury business."

"I do not believe the union men to be of bad character, Mr Thornton. They are desperate men who struggle to support their families. Have you been to Princeton yourself?"

He raised an eyebrow at her question. Margaret knew her tone as impertinent, but she did not care to alter it.

"Aye, of course I have. I am no ignorant master who does not know his own workers, Miss Hale. I know the poverty, I know the conditions they live in. I run a business, rightly or wrongly, and I pay them the wages I can afford to pay and still turn a healthy profit. They are welcome to take or leave my employement, but they do not leave because they know that I run a fair mill despite what they try and claim."

"I want to learn more about it." Margaret said, her eyes fixed on his. "I want to learn how this world works, how things could be improved for them, to make things fairer-"

"You should not be in here, Miss Hale." Mr Thornton said, his face turning hard once more.

She had offended him once more, as she seemed wont to do. She squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated any further. If he could not have a civil conversation, that was his fault, not hers..

"I have already said that I am sorry for being here without your permission." Margaret said, crossing her arms as she waited for his response.

"Yet you have not left. Your father will wonder where you are."

"My father is no doubt engaged in conversation," Margaret said. "But of course, if you wish me to leave I shall go. It is just - you have been blocking the door, Mr Thornton."

He stepped aside, and she swept past him. As her hand reached the doorknob, she squeaked in surprise as she was pulled back by Mr Thornton's hand gripping her bare elbow. She gasped at the force with which he held her. For a moment, she felt fear squeeze at her; was he going to hurt her?! She did not believe him capable of that, but why was he holding her so?

She turned to look at him, stunned that he would dare to touch her in such a way. Her heart raced, her throat tightened. He loosened his grip on her arm but did not let go. Instead, he raised a hand to her hair. She had never given any indication that she wanted him to touch her at all. Yet she did not struggle, she did not turn away.

"Miss Hale." His voice was lower now, his grip relaxing on her arms so she could turn and leave any time she wished. "I cannot stop thinking about you."

"Really?" Margaret asked, breathless at his proximity and sudden confession.

"You look beautiful this evening." He whispered, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of her upper arms. "So beautiful."

"Mr Thornton - " She felt as though she were drowning. "Mr Thornton, I cannot-"

"Of course." He stepped back, his face tight. "I am sorry, Miss Hale. I do not know what has come over me - to touch you in such a way, unbidden and unwanted-"

"Not unwanted." Margaret said, the treacherous words coming out before she could stop them.

"Really?" Thornton asked, echoing her earlier reaction.

"I must confess, I have thought about you." Margaret whispered. "I - I think you to be a good man, Mr Thornton. You may think I do not, but I do."

"I think you a fine lady, Miss Hale." He leaned in close to her, his hand coming to rest on her cheek.

Margaret blinked up at him, aching to lean up and kiss him. She could not; for a start, he towered over her and she was sure she would not reach his lips, landing awkwardly somewhere on his neck instead. Secondly, she could not because to kiss this man, secretly in his study with a room full of people next door, would be a mistake that would indelibly damage her reputation. Besides, she was not even sure that she liked him. Why on earth was she so drawn to him at this moment?

They froze, their faces so close together that their noses almost touched. And then, in a moment that would surely be seared into Margaret's memory for all time, Mr Thornton's lips were against hers. Margaret had never been kissed before. She did not move away; in fact, she brought a hand up to rest against his cheek.

He moaned as her palm melded against his jaw. It was a tiny sound, and she might not have heard it if his lips were not pressed against hers. Indeed, it wasn't so much that she heard it that she felt it. His hand moved lower, to the small of her back. She found herself being pulled closer to him. There was not an inch between them; the swell of her chest pressed tight against him as he stooped lower to continue kissing her.

Margaret felt as though every inch of her was on fire. Her brain was screaming at her that this was ridiculous; should somebody come in, her reputation would lie in tatters and her father would surely die of shame. A young woman, unmarried as she was, should not be kissing handsome (though utterly infuriating) mill owners at dinner parties.

This feeling was wonderful; intoxicating, in fact. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her fingertips tingled. Her lips burned. His hands raised to the back of her neck, one fingertip tracing down towards her back. It made her shiver in the most delightful way, not like she was cold at all. She wanted this to go on forever.

And then, it was over.

John sprang back from her. He looked at her in shock, his hand rising to his lips as if to check they were still there.

"Christ." He muttered under his breath, rubbing at his forehead. "Miss Hale-"

"You may call me Margaret, I think." She said shakily, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

"Miss Hale," he continued "I am sorry, I do not know what came over me. You should leave."

"Mr Thornton-"

When he realised that she would not leave without speaking with him first, Mr Thornton stepped forward. He opened the door, and with a cursory glance into the hallway left without a word. Margaret stared after him, taking a deep breath. She turned back towards the bookshelf, not wishing to leave the room until the burning blush that she felt on her cheeks had gone.

After a few minutes, Margaret stepped into the hallway. Thankfully, it was empty. As she walked towards the door of the room the men were in, her father emerged. He looked a little bleary eyed and unsteady on his feet. He was not a great drinker - perhaps Margaret and John were not the only ones who had had too much alcohol that evening.

"Ah, Margaret! I was just coming to find you, my dear. I thought you would be with the women." Her father said, his arm going out for hers.

She took it, and she noticed he was leaning rather heavily against her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her rapidly beating heart.

"I was. I - I was coming to see if you were ready to leave. I am terribly tired."

"Good, good. Let us go then. Have you bid goodnight to our hosts?"

"I have said thank you to Mrs Thornton." Margaret said. "I have - I have not seen Mr Thornton. I thought he was in there with you."

Her father shook his head.

"I have not said goodbye to him myself. He left to go and see to something in the mill, and I have not- ah!" Her father smiled warmly, and Margaret did not have to turn around to know who he was smiling at.

"You're leaving?" That voice, deep and gruff and unmistakably his, asked.

"Yes, John, we must get back to see Mrs Hale before she retires for the night. Thank you so much for the wonderful evening."

The two men shook hands, and Margaret finally dragged her gaze away from her shoes when her father nudged her to say goodbye to their host.

Mr Thornton held his hand out for her to shake, and she took it. She inhaled as she felt his fingertips graze the sensitive skin of her palm, his eyes fixed on hers. Had that been deliberate?

"Miss Hale. I hope we can part friends." He said with a smile, that small smile she saw every now and then when she took tea with Mr Thornton and her father.

"Of course." Margaret said, though in truth she did not know what was going on. "Thank you for this evening, Mr Thornton."

They looked at each other, eyes unable to tear away, until the sound of her father's voice broke the spell and their hands dropped back by their sides.

"See you next week, John. Monday, wasn't it?"

"If the strike continues, aye." Mr Thornton said, weary at the talk of the strike. "I will send word if I cannot make our lesson, of course."

"Of course. Whatever you need. I shall look forward to it! More Plato, I think. You are doing so well."

John smiled again at the compliment. Margaret felt her cheeks heat. Oh, that would not do at all.

"Good night, Mr Hale. Miss Hale." He nodded to them both, and walked with them to the door.

There was no need for him to show them out personally; they had servants for that. But as Mr Hale took his coat and hat from the girl waiting by the door, Margaret felt a hand rest on the small of her back. She turned, and Mr Thornton stood so closely to her that she could feel the brush of his jacket against her arm. She knew the angle of their bodies would hide the fact this man was touching her if anyone in front should turn around - yet, if someone should emerge from the rooms behind them..

Margaret lingered for a moment, looking up and meeting Mr Thornton's eyes. He looked at her with a strange expression, and her heart was beating so fast there was no possible way it could not be heard echoing through the whole house. Without blinking, she stepped forward and swept past her father to stand in the now open doorway.

"Goodnight, Mr Thornton." Margaret spoke first.

She took her father's arm to help him down the dark steps. As they went down together, she could not help but look back.

Cross armed and stern faced, John Thornton was watching her as she left.

She did not understand that man.


	2. Chapter Two

John could not sleep. His mind raced with all that had happened that evening. He could not stop smiling, though surely it was wrong to be so overjoyed. He had been wreckless, kissing Miss Hale in such a way. He had not kissed a woman for many a year, not since he was around eighteen. That was only once, a girl who worked at the drapers. He couldn't even remember her name now.

He did not know what to do; the Irish workers were arriving the following evening, and things would likely take a chaotic turn once it was known he had brought them into the mill. He did not know what would happen; if the strike would be broken or if the Irish would serve only to incite rage. In truth, he no longer cared. The Irish would enable the mill to resume operations, one way or another.

There was one thing he knew for certain; he must speak with Miss Hale as soon as possible. It would not do to allow too much time to pass, for she would think him a cad. Would a Southern gentleman kiss a beautiful young girl against a bookcase as he had done? He doubted it.

He would write a note, he decided, first thing in the morning asking if he could come for his lesson that evening instead of Monday.

* * *

Mr Hale, as it turned out, had been delighted to have the lesson moved up. John sat in Mr Hale's study at seven o'clock that evening. His heart raced as he caught sight of Marg-Miss Hale. She did not quite meet his eyes, but she greeted him warmly enough. She looked tired, John thought. As though she had been crying, perhaps.

"Hello John!" Mr Hale stood as came into the room. "It is good to see you. What a fine surprise it was to recieve word from you this morning. We did so enjoy the dinner party last night, didn't we Margaret?"

John looked over at her. In the dim light of the room, he could make believe there was a blush on her cheeks.

"Yes, it was a very pleasant evening." Miss Hale said with a nod. "Might I offer you a cup of tea, Mr Thornton?"

"Aye, thank you."

"It is just a shame Adam - Mr Bell - has a prior engagement this evening and cannot join us. So, I thought perhaps we could continue our discussion from last week?"

Miss Hale poured the tea, so hastily that some spilt onto the table. She muttered under her breath, wiping at it with the sleeve of her dress. John was not sure, but he thought he saw a slight tremble in her hand. Was she nervous? He certainly was; the sight of her caused his heart to pound.

"John?"

He had not spoken, he realised, for far too long.

"Uh, yes. Excellent."

"Here you are." Miss Hale placed the cup infront of him, before pouring a cup for her father.

His eyes could not be dragged away from her. If she would just look up for a moment, she would see him staring. He felt debauched in his leering of her, yet he could not stop.

"So, John-" Mr Hale began.

"Father, might I be excused?" Margaret said sharply.

Stay.

Mr Hale frowned.

"So soon, Margaret? Oh, I was hoping you would join us. It does me good to hear you two young people talk."

"If you wish me to stay, I shall, of course." Margaret smiled, taking a seat. "Though I am most tired, I do not know what sort of company I shall be."

"Nonsense dear, you are always wonderful company. So, John.."

John could barely recall what Mr Hale had said for the past two hours. He had muttered agreements, made a few half hearted points, but really he was useless. He could not stop thinking of the previous evening, of Miss Hale's body pressed against his.

"Oh, I keep meaning to lend you a book I believe you will enjoy. I think I've left it by my bed, and I shall forget if I do not go now! Excuse me, John. Margaret, please talk with Mr Thornton until I get back." Mr Hale said, getting up.

"Yes, Father." Miss Hale whispered, her eyes fixed on her lap.

The door closed behind Mr Hale. John wondered what he was thinking; no other man would close the door on two unmarried people in such a way. It sickened John further; perhaps it was a sign of just how much Richard Hale trusted him. Yet John had violated that trust by kissing his only daughter in secret, in a house full of people that might have seen.

"Miss Hale-"

"Please, do not feel you need to say anything." Miss Hale muttered, her hands clasped together so tightly John could see her knuckles had turned white. "I will die of shame."

That was certainly not what he wanted to hear. Any happiness that burned within him was well and truly distinguished at her words, like cold water on a flame. He drained his teacup, trying to think of a response to her words. He set down the cup.

"I am sorry to have brought shame on you, Miss Hale. What I did - it is truly unforgivable."

"Mr Thornton-"

"I can ask only for your forgiveness and that we might forget the whole thing."

"I cannot." Miss Hale looked down.

John sighed heavily; that is what he had feared. If she could not forgive him for his indiscretion, he could not stay here.

"I should go."

She held up a hand, stopping him as he rose from the chair. He sat down, waiting to hear what she had to say.

"I cannot forget it, Mr Thornton. I see it in my mind over and over, I feel your lips upon mine. I do not understand how." She admitted softly. She looked up at him, a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Miss Hale." He breathed her name as though it were sacred. "You have thought of it?"

"You have not?" Miss Hale asked. "I have never been kissed before."

To know that he had been the first man to kiss this beautiful woman gave him an ugly sense of pride.

"I should not have done it."

"Yet you did. Why?" Miss Hale asked, as confidently and as casually as though she were inquiring after the weather.

"Because you were beautiful. Are, are beautiful. Because I had perhaps had one brandy too many and felt bold. Because I have thought of you every day since we first met."

"I thought you did not like me." Miss Hale said. "It is no secret we have not exactly seen eye to eye these past months."

"I do not care for some of the things you have done, nor some of your views. I am sure the feeling is entirely mutual. I think you a smart woman, a woman who knows her own mind and is not afraid to speak it. There is a funny sort o' bravery in that, Miss Hale."

She smiled as she looked down, as though she found something greatly amusing that he was not party to.

"You are the only man who thinks so. Father was greatly displeased with me, though he would never shout at me. He only wished I had been more considered in my response to you."

"Your father loves it in you, I know he does. He is fierce proud of you, Margaret. Miss Hale. Excuse me."

"You may call me Margaret when we are alone, I think."

"John, then." John replied. "Margaret, I hope this will not make things difficult between us. If you do not wish for me to come to the house, I will not. I have already taken unforgivable liberties, I will take no more if it causes you distress."

Margaret shook her head.

"Father would be greatly upset if you stopped coming. Perhaps - perhaps it is best if I do not sit in with you like this. I will tell Father I do not feel well, or that I have mending to do."

"Every time I visit? Will that not be a little suspicious?" John asked, unsure whether to be hurt or amused by Margaret's poorly thought out plan to avoid him. He took a deep breath - there was something that needed to be said, and it was no good pretending otherwise. "Margaret I - I enjoy seeing you. I enjoy spending time with you, even when we do not agree. I thought perhaps-"

"Ah, I've found it!" Richard Hale's voice cut in, the door opening. "Did you two find something to talk about?"

"Yes, Father. More tea, Mr Thornton?" Margaret asked, standing and reaching for the teapot and strainer.

"Yes, please."

She poured tea for both John and her father. When she handed him the cup, as had happened before, her fingers brushed his just a little too heavily. John felt his heart quicken, his breath catch. What sort of a man was he, rendered breathless by the slightest brush of a girl's fingers against his own?

"Might I be excused, Father? It is getting late and I wish see Mother."

"Of course, my dear. Though I poked my head around the door just now and I fear she is already fast asleep." Mr Hale stood and kissed his daughter on the cheek. "Sleep well, Margaret."

"I should go." John stood. "Miss Hale is right, it is getting late and I've enough to be getting on with at the mill even when the men are striking. Thank you, Mr Hale. I have enjoyed tonight's discussion very much."

"Oh, so soon John? I was hoping to to discuss the themes a little further. No matter, I shall save it for next time. Margaret, would you mind showing Mr Thornton out? I am afraid my knee is rather stiff and I cannot manage so many stairs. Dixon is snoring away in a chair by your mother's side."

"Of course." Margaret nodded. "Come, Mr Thornton, I will fetch your coat."

After shaking Mr Hale's hand, John followed Margaret down the stairs that lead to the front door. She did not say anything, nor did she look behind her to make sure he was following. Above them, they heard the creaking of the floorboards as Richard Hale made his way to bed. Margaret came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, seemingly holding her breath until they heard the closing of the door above them.

Magaret stepped forward and walked to the coat stand. She reached up, removing Mr Thornton's hat and coat.

"Here." She offered him both.

"Thank you." He took the hat from her, his fingers brushing against hers.

He went to pull away, but to his stunned surprise Margaret curled her hand around his. She said nothing, staring down at their joined hands clinging to his hat.

He could not understand it; had she not just told him she did not wish to see him again? Why was this woman holding his hand in the darkness of her father's hallway?

"Kiss me again." Margaret whispered. He cannot have heard her correctly, for Margaret Hale would never ask him to do such a thing. In his dreams, perhaps, but not in any sort of reality. John placed the top hat back on the stand, knowing he would be required to stay just a little longer.

"Miss Hale-"

"Margaret." She lifted her head and stared at him. "Please, John. I need to make sense of all this.

"How will me kissing you again help?" He murmured, moving closer to her ear to make sure they were not overheard. "It could surely only serve to make things worse."

Margaret reached up on tip toes and pressed her lips against his. He gripped her shoulders, unsure whether he should push her away or kiss her back. He did not understand what she thought she was doing. He could not deny that he had feelings for her. He kissed her properly, his hands holding her face. He had longed to kiss her for weeks, and that snatched, impuslive kiss in the study had done nothing to suppress his desire for her.

John felt he would die when she hesitantly opened her mouth at the slightest brush of his tongue. He had lost his mind; anyone could catch them like this. If her father were to see - surely he would lose all trust in John. As strong as his emerging feelings for Margaret were, John truly valued his friendship with Mr Hale.

"We can't do this." He murmured against her mouth. "We have lost our minds. You are not thinking."

"Perhaps I am not. I just need to understand what I am feeling for you."

He kissed her again, his hands on the small of her back pulling her closer. When he pulled away, he found his voice was almost gone when he tried to speak.

"Meet me, tomorrow." He rasped. "Please."

"I cannot." Margaret shook her head. "I cannot leave my mother."

"It will not take long, please. We need to discuss this."

"I will try."

"Come to the mill. Nobody will be there, bring a book or something that I could have left behind. Margaret, we need to talk. My mother is taking tea tomorrow at two so will be out for some time, come then."

"Mr Thornton, I - if someone were to see me enter the mill when it is empty.."

"Williams will be there, and some other men. As far as they are concerned you will come into my office and we will speak for a few moments."

"Fine." Margaret agreed. "I shall see you at two."

"Goodnight, Miss Hale." John reached for his hat, putting it on and stepping away from Margaret as quickly as he could. "Thank you. For the tea."

"Goodnight, Mr Thornton."

* * *

At around quarter past two the next day, there was a knock on John's office door. He had been expecting it, but it still startled him. In fact, he had been pacing up and down for the past fifteen minutes waiting for that knock at the door.

"Miss Hale 'ere to see you, Mr Thornton. Says she's got a book fer you."

"Show her in."

John stood. Margaret entered, clutching a book in her gloved hand. She nodded her thanks to Williams.

"I'm off out, Sir." He said to John. "We need more-"

"Very good, take as much time as you need." John said, not even hearing the end of his sentence as the door clicked close.

"I did not think you would come."

"Nor did I. Here is your book." Margaret held her hand out.

He took the book from her, frowning as he looked down at it. It was certainly not his, for his copy of Plato lay beside his bed. He should have left it with her, to make the lie more convincing. He had not been thinking.

"This is not mine." He reminded her. "Will your father miss it?"

"It is actually mine." Margaret said. "I thought it best to bring something he would not notice was gone."

"Oliver Twist? You like Dickens?"

"Doesn't everybody?" Margaret asked lightly. "Things have still not improved in regards to the workers coming back?"

"I thought you'd know all about that, given how close you are to Higgins."

"To his daughter, Bessie." Margaret corrected. "He does not discuss the strike with me anymore. You know that I like to see both sides of the situation, and I think that frustrates him."

"Miss Hale, I did not ask you here to talk about the strike."

"No." Margaret agreed. "I - I do not know what I can say to explain my behaviour last night."

"Let us perhaps start with why you asked me to kiss you again?"

Margaret laughed, rubbing at her forehead. She stood a little straighter, frowning as she spoke.

"I - I do not know. We were alone and I needed to make sense of the thoughts in my head. I thought perhaps if we- if I- oh it does not make any sense at all I know!"

"Do you wish for something more to happen between us?"

"You are being very blunt." Margaret said, moving to walk around the office. "Do you speak to everyone in this way?"

"I find it is the quickest path to finding the truth, Miss Hale. I've no time to be playing guessing games when it comes to your emotions."

"I do not know. I - I do not know what I am thinking. I would not claim to have liked you very much, but my opinion of you has changed since I have started to know you a little better. I think you an honourable man, though I think you have made mistakes."

"Oh?"

"I think you stubborn to the point of arrogance."

"Now who is blunt?" John asked. "I did not invite you here to insult me."

"Why did you invite me here?" Margaret asked, chin jutting out in defiance. "Do you wish me to claim I am in love with you?"

"No. I wish to know why you demanded I kiss you."

"You must think me to be very immoral." Margaret said, her eyebrow raising. "I do not think I demanded anything. I asked you a question and you have yet to answer it. Why did you ask me here?"

"I want to know why you asked to kiss me, that's why I asked you here. I want to know that I have not offended you, or upset you."

"I do not have any sort of justification for my actions, Mr Thornton. I came here because I know full well that I owe you an explanation but I cannot provide one. You kissed me, if you remember, the first time."

"Aye, I did. You looked beautiful that night - you look beautiful now. I think you a most handsome young lady, and despite what folk might say to the contrary I am only human. I was wrong to have taken advantage of you in such a manner, and I apologise."

"I - you did not. I was not an unwilling participant."

"You make it all sound so unpleasant, Miss Hale." He said with a small smile.

"It was not." Margaret admitted. "But I have never - I have never kissed anyone, as I told you. It was unexpected to say the least. I was shocked that you would shake my hand, yet only days later I allowed you to kiss me."

"I cannot pretend I did not enjoy it. But it was wrong, and if it is what you wish I will make no mention of it again. I will not tell your father, and I will stop coming to the house if that is what you want. I can either discontinue my lessons with your father or ask him to come here."

"Perhaps I do not want that." Margaret said. "I do not wish anything to change. My mother is gravely ill, Mr Thornton. Please do not tell my father that I have told you. I fear things will only get worse and - and I should like my father to have a friend to lean on. Mr Bell will be leaving soon to return to Oxford and he will have nobody to talk to. Well, he can talk to me of course, but I know he greatly values your comapny. I would not like him to be lonely."

"I am sorry. I did not know things were so bad."

"Nor did I, but I returned from your dinner party to find Doctor Donaldson leaving our house. I found out the truth of my mother's condition from Dixon, but I have asked that my father is not told. He will find out eventually, of course he will but - but I should like to save him some heartbreak. I know he has come to like you a great deal, even in these few short months, which is why I am telling you. Your lessons keep him occupied."

"I understand. I will keep your confidence - if there is anything I can do to help your family, let me know. Please."

"Thank you. I should leave, before your mother comes back." Margaret turned to the door.

"Miss Hale, there is something I must ask you."

"Oh?"

"If - if I were to ask your father if I might court you would that be an unwelcome question?"

"I cannot court you now! Not when my mother is so ill, and the strike is causing families to starve. It will not look right, least of all to your workers. They are suffering so greatly, and I am thinking of courting their master who they cannot reach an agreement with! I would look terribly callous."

"Is that your only concern?"

Margaret shook her head, and John winced. She was so frank he did not know what to make of it. He had never thought of courting a girl before, but he was certain this was not the usual reaction to a man expressing feelings towards a woman.

"I do not know how I feel about you, Mr Thornton. That is the truth of it. One moment I think you quite the worst man I have ever encountered, the next I am kissing you! It does not make the slightest bit of sense."

"Miss Hale, perhaps we should just forget the whole thing if it is so confusing for you." John stood and walked towards the door. "I am very busy."

Margaret stood and walked to him, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. A little too firmly.

"Goodbye, Mr Thornton." She stared him in the eyes, as though daring him to open the door.

John could not help himself, though he knew it to be utterly foolish. He leant down and captured her mouth with his. It was a different type of kiss to the previous two; urgent and desperate. Margaret was just as eager as him, her hands in his hair as he pressed her against the wall.

He could not explain this attraction to her, this desperate need to touch her. He felt like he was on fire; the most alive he had felt in years. He felt young, carefree - though he was not much of either. She made him feel like this. He wanted her desperately.

Margaret moved her lips from his, but before he could step back she had reached up her tip toes to kiss his neck. He gasped, his hands fisting in the material of her dress as he clung to her waist. Before he knew what he was doing he had lifted her up, pulling her legs around him and pressing her to the wall. Oh God, oh this felt so good, so sinfully good to feel her legs beneath her skirts. Her hands threaded in his hair, her tongue was against his. His knees weakened, and almost dropped her in his haste to end this most improper interaction.

She stumbled a little as he set her down, her hand reaching to steady herself against the wall. Her breath came in harsh pants, her mouth swollen from the force of his own. She looked dishevelled and sinful and perfect.

"No, no. We can't - don't-" He stuttured, unable to form a coherant sentence. Oh, Christ.

Margaret did not respond to him, instead she picked her hat up from where she had set it down and put it on her head. It was wonky.

"I need to leave." Margaret straightened her coat and opened the door. She hurried through the doorway without a glance back.

John did not understand that woman.

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I realised I didn't say hello on the previous chapter. I'm trying not to be one of those "here's my justification for this story" authors but..here's my justification for this story..**

**I had this idea ages ago but I wanted to make it quite a dramatic, romantic story to try something new and to help develop my writing with an actual plot, as well as writing something a little more saucy (though not M rated) and tropey than my previous story. I love the connection between John and Margaret and I got so many questions asking if my next story would be set mid-canon. I love mid-canon stories and there aren't really that many. I'm super nervous about this story (like I literally feel sick typing this note) because I know it could so easily go wrong and people might yell at me for having all the kissing and stuff..I've obviously tried to keep it in character but this isn't meant to be a super serious story. It's very much "if North and South was a romance novel", but hopefully you'll enjoy the ride.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter Three

Margaret was unable to go home after her visit to Marlborough Mills. She had too much on her mind, too much to consider. Instead, she went to Princeton to visit Bessie. The streets were lined with those begging with their hands out. Margaret gave what she could to each of them. It was not enough, it would never be enough. Things would not be right until Milton returned to work, but things seemed more hopless than ever in that regard.

The unrest on the streets seemed worse; the sound of crying babies echoed through the narrow alleyways and closely packed houses, the shouting and fighting of men ringing out alongside. It was not a good place to be; so much hunger, so much tension boiling beneath the surface.

The strike had gone on long enough, and it could not last much longer without death and misery spreading like plague.

Margaret's thoughts of the strike were interrupted frequently by the image of what had just happened in Mr Thornton's office. She had been wrapped around him in the most improper way imaginable, his hand on her bare leg beneath her skirts. Her heart raced at the memory; it was the worst thing she had ever done in her life. Yet it felt glorious, just for that moment.

"Bessie, I have done something terrible." Margaret blurted out as soon as Bessie opened the door. "Truly terrible."

"Oh, go on!" Bessie's eyebrows shot into her hair as she ushered Margaret inside. "Miss Margaret Hale, doin' sommat terrible! This I must hear. Better make it good, I've no time to waste."

She gestured for Margaret to sit at the small table in the middle of the room, and Margaret did so. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to gather herself for long enough to have a reasoned discussion with her friend.

"You must make me a promise that you will not tell anyone what I am about to say. It is - it is shameful."

"Are you alright, Margaret?" Bessie said, wide eyed and suddenly serious . "You're not in trouble are you?"

"No! Yes! No, not like that!" Margaret said, catching the horrified glance her friend gave to her midsection. "Promise me."

"I swear it, I swear! What have you done, girl?"

Bessie's face was a picture of concern, and Margaret felt a wave of shame. Why had she come here, to burden her sick friend with tales of her own immorality? What did she expect Bessie to say? Surely, if Bessie knew what Margaret had done she would no longer want to know her. For a woman to accost a man in such a wanton, brazen fashion.. Oh! Who would want to know a woman like that?

"The other night, at the Thornton's dinner party I- I-" Margaret could not say the words.

"C'mon, Margaret. What could have been so bad you've worked yourself into such a state?" Bessie chuckled. "You used the wrong fork? Slapped Mrs Thornton across the face? Made eyes at Mr Thornton?"

"You are not far wrong." Margaret said quietly. "Oh Bessie! I - I was in his study, looking at his books. I should not have been in there! He came in and - and-"

"What?" Bessie said, her eyes wide and hands clasped on her knees as she leaned closer. "C'mon, out with it."

"He kissed me." Margaret said, so quietly she was not quite sure she had said anything at all.

"He what?!" Bessie squealed, though her chest was far too weak for such exerition. She coughed heavily, falling forward to lean on the table with the effort of simply trying to breathe.

Margaret stood and rubbed at her friend's back as she often did, trying to ease her stuttering breaths. After a few moments, Bessie's breathing had calmed and she waved away Margaret's hand. She looked at her friend expectantly, waiting for Margaret to continue her tale.

"I shall not tell you the rest if that is your reaction." Margaret teased. Her own breath had turned shaky and uneven, her hands shaking in her lap as she sat back down.

"Oh there's more?!" Bessie asked. "Is this going to be what finishes me off?"

Margaret frowned; she did not like it when her friend spoke so easily of death.

"Do not speak like that! No - he came for his usual lesson with father last night, a few days earlier than we had anticipated. I think - I think that he came so that he could speak with me about what happened at the dinner party. Oh heaven forgive me I do not know what came over me Bessie! For I - I kissed him! Quite without invitation, I just sort of - lunged at him."

Bessie gasped, and grabbed Margaret's hands, as though she was afraid Margaret would flee Princeton before the tale was complete.

"No! Margaret Hale, you are quite the dark horse! Kissing a handsome man like Thornton in dark corners. Ooh, I am jealous!" Bessie tittered, spluttering as she laughed.

The laughter turned to vicious coughing. Her breath was coming in sharp, painful sounding wheezes. It saddened her greatly to hear her friend struggling so; another reminder of what this terrible place did to people. Bessie was good, and honest, and kind. She did not deserve this.

"Do not joke, Bessie!" Margaret said when she was satisfied that her friend was comfortable. "It is wrong. Terribly wrong. Women have lost their reputations for less."

"Not 'round here." Bessie shrugged. A mischevious smile spread over her face. "Folk are always having a cheeky kiss and a squeeze in the back alleys!"

"Elizabeth Higgins!" Margaret said in shock. "What are you saying?!"

"Not me! And not Mary neither, Father would have our hides! You're young, you're beautiful - what a shame to waste it."

"Bessie, I do believe you have gone quite mad." Margaret exhaled shakily. "Are you angry at me?"

"Why?"

"He is your enemy!"

Bessie shook her head, her eyes sliding closed. She looked exhausted, and Margaret felt a surge of guilt for burdening her with this secret.

"He's no enemy of mine, I doubt the man would know me from Eve. Father might not be best pleased, mind, if you end up marryin' a master. I've always thought Thornton the best of the lot of them, you know that. I knew you were sweet on him! I could see it in your eyes that day you were talking about him!"

"I do not know what is going on in my mind." Margaret buried her face in her hands. "I think him the most infuriating man I have ever known."

"That's always how it starts." Bessie said, though her smile was weary. "Gosh, all this excitement has quite worn me out."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to tire you so. Can I make you a cup of tea? Boil some water for you to breathe, anything?"

"I'm alright. I just - I just need to sleep. I'm sorry for the poor company. Will you come again tomorrow? If you can tear yourself away from-"

The sound of the door unlatching stopped Bessie, and she pressed her lips closed.

"Miss Margaret." Nicholas removed his hat. "Didn't think we'd be seein' ye again after ye dined with the masters."

"Nicholas." Margaret nodded in greeting. "How are things?"

"Quiet. It's been goin' on too long now." He said. "Folk are gettin' restless. Somethin's in the air, an' I don't much like it."

"I am sorry. I do so wish things could be resolved. I was just leaving, please excuse me."

"You and me both, Miss. Take care, I'd walk ye home myself but I've got a meetin'. Bess, you well?"

"Aye, well enough Pa. Go on, you get to meetin'."

Margaret waited until Nicholas had left, before turning to Bessie.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Who have I to tell?!" Bessie laughed. She shook her head. "No, I won't. You can trust in me. But Margaret, would it really be such a bad thing to court him, to marry him? You better be quick, you know every fine girl has their eye on 'im."

Margaret scoffed at that. It had been made very clear to her, not only by Bessie but Mrs Thornton as well, that Mr Thornton had many a woman who would like to marry him. Margaret wondered why he was not married. He was thirty, eleven years her elder, and most men of his age were long married by then. She cleared her throat; she did not care to know the reasons Mr Thornton was not married, for she was not interested in marrying him.

"I don't know Bessie. I have never thought of marriage and I certainly did not think he would even be a consideration. Yet I have somehow become entangled with him, I cannot stop thinking of him. But I do not even like him!"

Bessie smirked. Though Margaret could see the fatigue in her friend's face, this scandalous tale seemed to have brightened her spirits a little. Indeed, she laughed as she spoke.

"Course you don't. I often find myself makin' eyes at folk I can't bear."

Margaret cast her eyes downward. Bessie had a point; why had she kissed this man so many times? She really did not know. It was frustrating and infuriating.

"The way I spoke to him when I saw him today-"

"You saw him today?"

"Yes. I - I had to return a book to him that he left behind last night."

"Did you indeed?" Bessie asked with a raised eyebrow. "What a forgetful man he is."

"Anyway," Margaret continued, hoping the flush on her face was not as strong as it felt "I spoke to him most rudely. I did not mean to, but oh! He just - there is something about him that makes me quite mad. I have never spoken to anyone so bluntly, yet it was as though I could not keep the words inside."

"Oh Margaret. Go home, have a think. I'll see you tomorrow. And promise me sommet, just for me?"

"Anything."

"Please don't hate yourself for it."

"I shall try. Sleep well, Bessie."

"Keep safe, Margaret. Funny little thing that you are."

Margaret walked home, barely paying any attention to her surroundings at all. These last two days had unsettled her greatly. Her mother's illness had shaken her, surely that was the reason why her mind was so unclear at the moment. That must be it; she was so consumed with worry for her mother that she was quite incapable of making decisions.

_You allowed him to kiss you before you ever found out about your mother_, the treacherous voice in her mind whispered.

"Miss Hale."

At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She gasped with surprise, jolted out of her thoughts. Mr Thornton watched her, a puzzled frown on his face. Her reaction, she realised, was bizarre. She was acting quite erractically, she really did need to calm down.

"Mr Thornton!"

"What are you doing down here? It isn't safe."

They were a little way from Princeton now, though near enough that beggars still sat on the odd street corner. She could ask him why he was here; surely with all that was going on, things were more dangerous for him than they were for her.

"I am perfectly safe. I was visiting my friend Bessie, as I do most days. I was just walking home."

"I'll walk you. I'm going that way anyway."

"It really isn't-"

"I need to ask a favour of you." He interrupted her.

"Oh?" Margaret frowned; what favour could he possibly want of her?

"Do not go to Princeton tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I'm askin' you, don't go." He said. "Please."

"Why?" Margaret repeated. "What's happening tomorrow? There is something you are not telling me."

His lips were tight, his eyes looking straight ahead. His shoulders hunched a little at her questioning, and Margaret had a grave sense of dread wash over her. Something was happening tomorrow, she was certain of it.

"Promise me you will not visit your friend tomorrow, that is all."

"I promise." Margaret frowned. "Mr Thornton, I really must apologise to you for the way I spoke to you in your office. It was rude. I am afraid I did not get much sleep at all last night and I am rather like a bear with a sore head when I am in such a mood."

"If your apology is anything like the one in my study, I think I should remind you we are in public." He said in a low voice.

She opened her mouth in shock that he would speak in such a way, until she caught sight of his face. He was trying not to laugh!

"You are mocking me, sir." She straightened her shoulders and walked a little faster. "I think I shall be quite fine getting home from here, thank you Mr Thornton."

He reached out, touching her elbow. She halted at the touch, looking up at him. He snatched his hand back, and resumed walking. She followed him.

"I'm sorry, it was wrong of me to mention it. Miss Hale, I want you to know - I want-"

"Ah, Margaret!" Mr Bell waved cheerily from the other side of the street. He crossed over to them, a broad smile on his face as he tipped his hat in greeting. "And Mr Thornton, how nice to see you're both getting along. Margaret, I was on my way to see your father. Might I escort you home?"

"Of course." Margaret smiled. "Thank you Mr Thornton, I shall let you get on with your day now."

"Aye, I've much to do. Good day, Miss Hale. Bell."

Margaret watched as Mr Thornton turned and walked back the way they had just come from. She frowned; how strange. Mr Bell took her arm, and she pulled her eyes away from Mr Thornton's retreating form.

"So, my dear, where have you been today? Off doing good?"

"Just to see my friend Bessie. She is not doing so well, her chest was very bad today, I did not stay for long." Margaret said.

She wondered what Mr Bell made of her unlikely friendship with a girl like Bessie. He had stayed silent on the matter at the dinner party, save for revealing that Bessie used to work at Marlborough Mills. Why had he done that, Margaret wondered? Was he set on antagonising Mr Thornton?

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that my dear. I suppose this blasted strike has done nothing to ease her suffering."

"Indeed. Oh Mr Bell, how can anyone stand to see such division in society?"

Mr Bell merely made a funny little noise, dismissing her concern outright. Margaret frowned; it felt as though nobody had much sympathy at all for the strikers. Yes, they had caused upheaval and perhaps a total strike was not the answer but - they were human beings, and they were suffering. Children were near death, and nobody seemed inclined to do anything much to stop it.

"Come, Margaret. There will always be the rich and the poor, that is just the way of things."

"But must the poor suffer so? The crying of the babies, Mr Bell, I hear it when I close my eyes. It is truly dreadful to know that they suffer so greatly when there is no difference to my own life. Things continue as they always have done, yet others near death."

"Do not upset yourself, my dear. You do what you can to help them, I am sure of it. Let us talk of nicer things. I did not know you and Mr Thornton were such good friends."

"We are not! I mean, he happened upon me walking home and offered to escort me. That is all."

"Well, that was certainly good of him, and now it is my honour to escort you the rest of the way."

Margaret scarcely heard the rest of Mr Bell's incessant chatter as they walked home. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of Bessie's words, Mr Thornton's warning - and the memory of his body pressed tight against hers.

* * *

That night, Margaret sat at her desk. She had written the letter to Frederick more than a dozen times, each copy lying discarded and crossed out in the hearth of the fireplace. It should have been a simple letter to write.

Mother is dying. We need you. Come home.

Each time she wrote about her mother's condition, tears fell unbidden from her eyes, smudging the ink and making it impossible to see. It was most frustrating; her mother did not need her tears, she needed this help in writing to Frederick. She should have posted the letter today, yet it was not ready. It would not do to delay it a moment longer.

_Fred,_

_Mother is gravely ill and I know it would do her so much good to see you. Please, come home. I would not ask you if it was not truly urgent. Keep safe, but please make haste. It will take several weeks for this to reach you I know, but I fear there is not much time. Be careful._

_Your sister,_

_Margaret_

She addressed the envelope, imagining Frederick far away in Cadiz. He wrote to them quite often, though not often enough for Margaret. She could not get enough of his letters; she missed him most desperately, and the snatched tidbits of news he offered his family were never enough. Was he happy? A life in exile could not be an easy thing to bear, and she hoped that he had friends who gave him comfort. She could not stand to think of him lonely under the Spanish sky.

Tucking the envelope safely in the crook of her arm, Margaret made her way to bed. She placed the envelope beside her bed. Readying herself for bed, Margaret washed her face in the small basin by her window. Once she was clean, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

She raised a hand to her lips, touching them just once with her fingertip. She flushed red at the memory of Mr Thornton's lips on hers - too many times. It had happened far too often, and it would certainly not happen again. She had lost her mind, playing these foolish games with a man she did not care for. She certainly did not wish to marry him, yet she did not understand why she was drawn to him in such a wanton way. She shut her eyes.

No, she most definitely did not care for Mr Thornton.


	4. Chapter Four

Trouble was in the air.

John could feel it in his bones. He was prepared for it; the Irish safely in their quarters, the soldiers alerted. Yet he did not know what would happen that day, and fear coiled low in his belly. Despite what people thought, he was just a normal man. He felt fear as much as any other, and he would be a special kind of fool not to to be at least a little afraid of a crowd of angry workers out for his blood.

Fear did not control him, though. Hiring the Irish workers was the best decision for his business and the continuation of the mill. The Milton men and women knew what to do if they objected to his decision; resume their work and end this fruitless strike. He would not give in to their petulant demands.

He did this for the good of the mill and his business. Just because it was the right thing to do did not mean he was not afraid. He was not even afraid for himself, but for his mother and Fanny. He should have sent them away, somewhere they could not be touched. It was foolish to keep them here, but his mother would never leave him. She had been by his side in all things, and she would not abandon him now. He was thankful for her, for her level head and her careful nature.

Fanny, however, was prone to panic and dramatics. Having her here was a mistake; she had been pacing all morning, driving everyone mad with her muttering. Her hysteria only served to panic the servants and irritate Mother.

The Irish had arrived late last night. He did not think anyone had seen them, but he was not so naive as to think nobody would find out. He was fully prepared for the backlash that would inevitably come. The strike had been going on too long now, folk were restless and looking for someone to direct their anger at. This would be the last straw, the flame that lit the fuse, he was certain of it.

He locked the door to the rooms where he had kept the Irish - as though they were mere supplies, rather than breathing men and women. He closed his eyes; he could hear it. The distant roar that only a crowd could make. They were coming, coming for him.

He ran back to the main house, and over the sound of his own hurried footsteps he could hear the rattling of the mill gate. Oh God. He finally got inside and slammed the heavy front door behind him and bolting it firmly. He raced to the drawing room to find his mother. She was there, pale faced and tight lipped along with Fanny. The fear in his sister's eyes was unmistakable, and she gave a heavy sob, falling to the floor in her mother's arms.

Usually he rolled his eyes at his sister's fanciful swoons but today he knew that Fanny was terrified. He had no right to place his mother and sister in such danger. This was his fight, not theirs.

"Try to stop her from panicking."

"Miss Hale is here." Mother said, leaning down to steady Fanny as she struggled to get to her feet.

"What? Where is she?"

His mother pointed over to the window, and he saw Margaret's familiar figure staring out of the window. Why the hell was Margaret here? He had told her yesterday to stay at home, hadn't he? He had thought perhaps she would go to Princeton and get tangled in the aftermath of what he suspected would happen here. He had not even considered that she would pay a visit to the mill itself.

"Miss Hale, I am sorry you have visited us at this unfortunate moment." His breath was harsh, winded from running and the rapid pounding of his own heart. He spoke in a softer voice so his family would not hear. "I told you to stay at home."

She frowned, following his gaze out of the window. One could not fail to hear the noise, nor the rattling of the gates as God knows how many men pushed against them. They would not hold for much longer.

He did not hear if Margaret responded to him, as the mill gates burst open and the yelling grew almost deafeningly loud.

His heart dropped to his shoes.

Tens of men spilled into the yard, yelling and furious eyed. There were more than he had expected in truth. The doors were firmly bolted, but how long would they last? The mill door wouldn't take much more than a good hard shove to break down. He could see the Irish in the windows, shrinking back and clinging to one another. He'd put them in danger just as much as he had everyone in this house.

"Oh my God, they're going for the mill door."

"Oh no," Margaret gasped beside him. "It's Boucher."

The name was not overly familiar to him, nor did he particularly care which of Margaret's supposed friends was down below causing trouble. The soldiers would be here soon enough, if the rioters could only be kept back for long enough.

"Let 'em yell. Keep up your courage for a few minutes longer Miss Hale."

She looked at him witheringly, tearing her eyes from the scene unfolding in the yard below them.

"I'm not afraid! Can't you pacify them?"

How could he pacify these men, rioting and yelling as they were? There was only one solution, one that had been arranged days ago. He knew it would come to this, this violent storming of the mill, and he was well prepared.

"The soldiers will make them see reason."

"Reason? What kind of reason?" Understanding dawned on her face, quickly replaced by indignance. "Mr Thornton, go down there and face them like a man! Speak to them as though they were human beings. They are driven mad with hunger! They don't know what they are doing. Go and save your innocent Irishmen."

Before he knew what he was doing, he had headed her words. Was he so easily shamed by this woman that he would do whatever she asked of him if it might make her think better of him? His feet moved of their own accord, his hand on the handle of the front door before he could even think what he was doing.

When he was out there, he was no longer afraid. He was no longer weakened by whatever affection he might hold for Miss Hale. He was Master of Marlborough Mills, and he felt nothing but contempt for the despicable scene that had unfolded in his yard. He crossed his arms, waiting for the rabble to grow silent.

There was no time for that.

"In God's name stop!"

He felt his blood run cold as ice. She could not be out here! She stepped forward, standing in front of him. What kind of man was he that he allowed a woman to stand before him before a baying mob? No man at all. Yet he could not get her inside without dragging her, and that was sure to anger those amongst the crowd who knew her. It would look wrong, brutal to do such a thing.

"Think of what you are doing." She spoke to them with such confidence, with such little fear that he was so overawed by her for a moment he forgot where they were. "He is one man and you are many. Go home. The soldiers are coming. Go in peace."

"Will ye send the Irish home?"

"Never!" John roared back.

The crowd flared once more, and his only thought was removing Margaret from danger. He clutched at her shoulders, putting her behind him.

"Go inside, this is not your place."

She shook her head, ducking beneath his arm and standing in front of him once more. She was shielding him with her body, her hands clinging so tightly to his upper arms he could feel the bite of her nails through his clothes. She looked at him with determination in her eyes, even as he tried desperately to get her behind him. The crowd still roared beneath them, but he could scarcely hear it over the roar of blood pounding in his ears. This was out of his control now, and she needed to be away from this - inside, where it was at least a little safer than here.

"They will not hurt a woman!"

He tried to move her aside; he would not hide behind a woman, particularly one so much smaller than him. He did not need her protection, nor did he wish for her to place herself in such danger on his account.

"Go inside or I will take you in."

She resisted him, turning her body away from him. Then, she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. He frowned, not understanding how she had dropped so suddenly until he caught sight of the blood on her forehead and a stone on the ground nearby. Anger flared in him as violently and as surely as he had ever known it. He turned to face the crowd.

"Are you satisfied? You came here for me so kill me if that's what you want."

Mercifully, the blare of the soldiers whistles sounded. The mob below him panicked and began to run from the yard. He kneeled before Margaret, her eyes still closed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest reassured him that she was at least still alive.

He could barely hear the noise of the chaos that was unfurling around him. He focused on Margaret, that angel dressed all in white and appearing to be fast asleep. He had done this to her. He had created the chaos and disrest that had led to this. He had not cast the stone, but he may as well have.

What if she died? This injury had been so bad as to knock her out cold, what if the damage was worse than it appeared? The cut on her temple was not too large, but blood oozed from it all the same. Her skin was so pale, the crimson red only looking more alarming against the milk white of her forehead and the dark brown of her hair.

"John!" His mother's voice and a firm tap on his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts. "John, get her inside."

He blinked, awakened suddenly from whatever state he had been in.

"Of course."

He lifted her gently, her head resting against his chest as he supported her legs with one arm and her back with another. Even in his anger and despair at what had happened to her, carrying her like this, like some sleeping bride, made him wonder if he would ever carry her across this same threshold as his wife - his own Mrs Thornton.

Settling her on the settee, he reached down to brush her hair from the wound. He could not help but linger, fingertips grazing the curve of her jaw as he pulled his hand away. He cast his eyes upward, and caught the glare of his mother. He cleared his throat, standing hastily.

"I need to secure the gates, check the Irish."

"John, what is going on between-"

He could not face his mother's interrogation now. There were too many things to be done, too much that needed taken care of before he could even allow thoughts of what would happen next with Miss Hale into his mind.

"Not now, Mother. We'll talk later. Just look after her. Please. Do not - do not let her leave until I have seen her. Please."

He left the room before his mother could comment on his wish to see Margaret before she left; he was sure she could read his mind, see his thoughts. His mother had always known him too well to keep secrets from her for very long.

* * *

Two hours must have passed by the time he had done all that needed doing. The gates were secure, doors safe and locked. The Catholic priest had been sent for, and the Irish workers seemed calm. He hoped this final burst of violence, violence towards a woman innocent of any crime even in their eyes, would end the strike.

He had met with the other Masters, endured their mindless conversation and crowing. In truth, he had felt a million miles away - staring out of the window at the spot where Margaret had stood. Now everything had been arranged and things were settling, Margaret crept back into his thoughts. He could not help but worry; what if she had not awoken, or her condition had worsened? How could he face Richard and Maria Hale knowing he was the cause of their only child's injury?

He raced down the steps, almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to reach the main house. He flung the door open and ran up the stairs. He went into the drawing room, trying to steady his breath. Margaret sat upright on the settee, her eyes closed and hands clasped together.

She was alone in the room; John did not know where his sister or mother were, but as long as they were safe somewhere in the house he did not care.

He fell to his knees in front of Margaret, taking her hands in his. Her eyes opened, and she smiled. He had never felt such relief.

"You are well." She said softly, her voice raspy. "All is quiet now?"

"Aye. I'm sorry to have been away so long. Margaret - you should not have done that."

Margaret shook her head. John could not help but notice that she winced with the movement. He raised a hand to her head, pushing back her hair and examining the wound. She shifted away from him, covering the area with her hand. She straightened, suddenly self conscious.

"I was supposed to let you face them alone, knowing that I had sent you out there?" She asked, her voice tight and formal. "That I had sent an unarmed man into the clutches of an angry mob? I underestimated their fury, I realised that as soon as you stepped outside."

"I know you do not approve of my handling of the strike, but you should not have walked into such danger. It is bad enough you were here at all, you could have been killed. If you had been on the streets a few moments later, you would have been caught in that crowd. I told you to stay at home."

"Perhaps if you had told me of your fears of a riot properly rather than barking commands at me, I would have listened." She cleared her throat. "Your mother fetched Doctor Donaldson. He said I am quite well. I will go home now I - I just wanted a chance to see you. Fanny was in here talking to me, but I could scarcely hear a word she said. I believe she got bored with me and went off somewhere."

Her voice did not sound right at all; far away and dreamy, tired to the point of collapse. John turned his head, checking they were indeed alone. He shuffled closer, his hand on her cheek. He kissed her lips, softly and chastely.

"If anything had happened to you - if the injury had been worse-"

"I am well." Margaret whispered. "I should go home, if my father hears of this he will be sick with worry. Mother is not well, I came here to borrow something to ease her suffering - I did not know you meant for me to stay at home completely when you spoke to me yesterday."

"I certainly did not think you would come here."

"I am here on behalf of my mother, I did not wish to come here." She said, suddenly haughty. "I can last a day without seeing you, Mr Thornton."

He blinked at that odd comment, and he was unafraid to admit that it stung him. Every hour without catching a glimpse of her seemed to drag interminably. She had consumed him. She was suddenly all he could think of, all of the time.

"Wait a while, for the streets to calm. Then I will take you home." John told her, taking her hand and stroking over her knuckles with his thumb.

He felt like he was trying to calm a nervous horse, for her hand trembled beneath his. Her face, however, gave nothing away. She looked down at their joined hands blankly.

"Is it safe for you to walk the streets?" Margaret asked. "After what just happened, I would not like you to get into any trouble."

It was a fair point; the anger had reached boiling point and there were certain men who would try and beat John into a pulp should they get their hands upon his body.

"We will take a carriage. I'll find one. Margaret, please. I will not send you out there alone."

"I heard Fanny talking to Jane when I was waking up. They said - they said everyone knows that I care for you now. That I was clinging to you."

His sister had always been a fiend for gossip, but he could not believe he nor their servant had been so careless as to repeat such things right in front of Margaret, unconscious or not. He did not wish Margaret to think ill of his sister, nor to worry needlessly what other people thought of her or their..relationship?

"Do you care for me?" John asked. His thumb traced the shape of her jaw.

"I have kissed you a great many times, though I knew it to be wrong." Margaret said.

Her eyes did not quite meet his; it was as though she was looking straight through him. He frowned; this was not the way he had hoped this conversation would transpire.

"How could it be wrong? How could it be wrong when I love you?" John whispered.

He could not miss the way she froze at his words, the way she shrank back so she sat pressed against the back of the settee. These words were not welcome ones. He did not show it, but he felt crushed beneath the weight of her rejection.

"John." Margaret spoke his given name; she did so rarely, and he savoured every time she did. "Mr Thornton, I cannot-"

_Mr Thornton_.

"You do not love me." He leaned back on his heels, crouching before her. A begging man.

"No! I do not know what I feel. It is happening too fast, my head is not clear. I need time."

"You have kissed me of your own volition often enough, you have made me believe that you care for me."

"It is happening too fast, as I said. My mother is ill and declining quickly, the strike - there is too much to think of!"

"I will not harm your reputation by creeping around like this much longer, Margaret. We will get caught eventually and then it will look suspicious when we marry."

"Marry?" She blinked several times. "What do you mean, marry?"

"You think I would kiss you every damn chance I got and not want to marry you? I was going to ask your father-"

"Do not tell Father of this!" Margaret interrupted, her eyes wide with panic. "He cannot know about - about the danger I placed myself in. Or - or our-"

She could not even get the words out. Was she so very ashamed of what had happened between them?

"Of course I would not, I would ask him if I could court you. He would be furious with me if he found out about this, I am certain of it. I want to do things properly, with honour. Unless of course you do not wish to marry me, if this has all been some silly game - to toy with my emotions and then drop me when you are tired of it."

"How dare you?!" Margaret stood, her hands in fists by her side. She stood so suddenly she almost knocked him backwards. "How dare you say such things? You think me capable of such behaviour? I'm going home."

They were barely an inch apart as he got to his feet as well. She was much shorter than he was, and a little unsteady too, wobbling as she tried to maintain her stance. Was she ill? Could he dare hope her apparent disgust at his feelings was merely a result of the blow to her head? He held her arms, steadying her.

"I am not letting you walk all the way home on your own. You'll be robbed or hurt, don't be ridiculous."

Margaret's eyes flared, that look that meant she was most indignant indeed. He had seen it several times in their short - acquaintance? Friendship? - and it had never meant anything good.

"You are not _letting _me do anything. I am choosing to leave." Margaret turned to the door, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her.

"Your head-"

"Is fine, thank you for your concern Mr Thornton. Good day." Margaret made to move past him but he caught her arm.

"No. No, you are not leaving."

"Let go of me." Margaret warned in a low voice. "I will scream."

He rolled his eyes, but let go of her all the same. He would not trap her like some howling caged animal. He would not use his hands on her.

"I am not going to hurt you, don't be ridiculous." John hissed, balling his hands out of sheer frustration. Things had changed so quickly he felt utterly blindsided by the sudden coldness. "Margaret, I don't understand. I thought - my office, the study, your hallway - I thought-"

"John." Her eyes were wide. "I need time. I need time to understand this. Three days ago I did not even like you, now we are talking of marriage. It is too much. I cannot do this, I cannot see you."

"Margaret? Are you awake?"

John started at the unexpected sound of his mother's voice and walked away from Margaret. It was too late; his mother stood well in the room, there was little chance she had not seen them standing too close to be proper.

"She is well, Mother. I will take her home when-"

"I will take her home." Mother said. "You've enough to be getting on with here."

"Mother-"

"It is arranged, I have already found a carriage. Surely Miss Hale's parents will be wondering where she has got to, it is best she goes home as soon as possible. Come, Miss Hale. Can you walk?"

Margaret nodded, smoothing her skirts. She raised her hand briefly to touch the wound on her head, and John wondered if it hurt. She would likely hide any pain she was in, and he was desperate enough to hope her apparent change of heart was a result of the stone to her head, rather than realising he was not suitable for her.

He swallowed hard; that was what he feared. That she would realise he was not good enough for her, that she would reject him outright. A bright Southern girl from a respectable family could do better than a gruff Northern master who couldn't even control his own workforce.

"Of course. I must thank you for your concern, and for having the doctor visit. Mr Thornton, once again I must apologise for interfering." Margaret said. "I realise now that it was not my place. However, I am certain I would do the same again."

"There is no need to apologise. I - I am grateful to you. I hope you recover quickly from your unfortunate injury, Miss Hale. Please, send me any doctor's bill you might incur." John gritted out, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Mother, take care. Come back as quickly as you can, I do not like you being on the streets."

He felt duty bound to escort them both to the waiting carriage. Mother went in first, but he could feel her eyes on him as he helped Margaret in. Her hand did not linger on his, nor did her gaze. She merely mumbled her thanks to him and turned her face away, staring straight ahead with blank eyes.

He mumbled a goodbye and shut the carriage door, certain he had never been so utterly confused in all his thirty years.


	5. Chapter Five

Mrs Thornton helped Margaret descend the steps of the mill. John followed them, silent and stalking. Margaret turned her head as she was helped into the carriage, catching sight of the coldest glare she had ever received. She turned her head away.

"Thank you, Mrs Thornton." Magaret mumbled as the carriage door was closed and the vehicle began to move.

Mrs Thornton sat to her right, looking at her with narrowed eyes. Margaret almost squirmed under her steely gaze, her hands clenching. John had certainly inherited his disposition from his mother.

"Miss Hale, as you know I do not mince my words. I will ask you a simple question and I expect a simple answer in return. What is going on between you and my son?"

"Excuse me?" Margaret asked, her breath catching.

She had not expected Mrs Thornton to be so straightforward in her interrogation; a mistake, perhaps, considering that Mrs Thornton was a very much a straightforward kind of woman.

"I've seen the way he looks at you. I've seen the way you look at him."

"I don't-"

Mrs Thornton interrupted her once more, clicking her tongue and folding her arms. Margaret was caught off guard; she certainly was not used to women speaking so plainly to one another. Another difference between the North and the South, one more to add to all of the others.

"Miss Hale, don't try and play the fool. Do you realise how inappropriate your behaviour was today?"

"What are you trying to accuse me of, Mrs Thornton?" Margaret asked, blinking at the sudden frankness. "I don't understand."

The carriage was too hot. Margaret felt as though she were being pushed down by some invisible force, her chest tight and her mind most cloudy indeed. The rocking of the vehicle on the rough streets did nothing to ease her discomfort.

"I think you sweet on my son. I think him similarly inclined to you."

Her heart pounded; what use was there in denying it? Though she was unsure of her own feelings, it had not been ten minutes since John had been on his knees confessing his love for her.

"Even if that were true, I do not see the need to discuss it-" Margaret began to speak, but she did not have a chance to finish before Mrs Thornton interrupted.

"Do not misunderstand my son's character, Miss Hale. You might think him hard or unfeeling, but I know otherwise. I have heard him speak of you incessantly, though I doubt he even realises he's doing it. His eyes light up whenever he sees you."

She felt her whole body heat with pure mortification. To hear that Mr Thornton spoke of her when she was not there was embarrassing enough, but to know that he did so to his mother! Margaret swallowed heavily. She did not know why knowing he spoke of her made her feel so - so ashamed, perhaps? Was he right? Had she been playing a game with his emotions? That had not been her intention, nor did she wish to cause him pain with her rejection. This whole situation had rapidly spiralled out of control, and Margaret felt utterly lost.

"I think-"

Mrs Thornton did not let her finish.

"If you're unsure of your feelings, as I suspect that you are from what I have seen today, do not give him any cause to hope you will change your mind. Not when his life is so fraught already. It would be cruel."

"My - my relationship with Mr Thornton is merely that he is my father's pupil." Margaret said.

"Then do not give him false hope." Mrs Thornton told her. "Do not embarrass him, Miss Hale. Do not put your own reputation at risk if you have no intention of marrying my son. I admit I have seen handshakes that have lingered too long, gazes that did not break soon enough. I want John to be happy. However, I must step in now that things have gone too far."

"You must think very little of me, to think me capable of embarrassing him or manipulating the situation to my advantage. You barely know me, Madam." Margaret said.

She knew it was not polite to speak to her elder in this way, yet there was nothing polite about this conversation. To be confronted in such a way in an enclosed space with no means of escape - it was nothing short of an ambush.

"I think it no great secret that I don't agree with some of the things you've seen fit to do in the short time you have been in Milton, Miss Hale. If marrying you will make my son happy, I will put aside my own opinions. What I will not do, Miss Hale, is allow you to play him for a fool."

Margaret had had quite enough of the Thorntons for one day. They spoke too bluntly, too freely. It enraged her, for she was unused to being questioned in such a way. She found it rude and boorish. Mrs Thornton was staring at her expectantly, yet Margaret was sure she did not know how to respond to such frankness.

For this woman to talk of marriage as though it were no more than a business arrangement! It was a bold assumption that Margaret would even wish to marry Mr Thornton, for as far as anyone knew they did not even like each other at all.

"I think I shall walk the rest of the way." Margaret said, though of course she could not. She was being petulant and was well aware of the fact, but she resented being spoken to in this manner.

"Do not be ridiculous. I'll not be accused by John of any wrongdoing, I am taking you home and delivering you to your parents. I'll not tell them what happened today, if that's what you're worried about. But, my girl, you need to think on your behaviour and your intentions towards my son. He is a good man, an honorable man."

Margaret did not wish to hear of Mr Thornton's honour. Indeed at this moment she had no wish to hear of Mr Thornton at all. She wanted to go home, to change her clothes and wash her face and forget that this miserable day had happened at all.

"I think I should like to end this conversation." Margaret stared out of the window. "I will not be spoken to in this way by anyone, Mrs Thornton. Least of all you."

"You'd do well to hold your tongue." Mrs Thornton said. "Look, we are almost there. I'll see you in but not speak with your parents if that is what you wish. You need to be more conscious of your conduct in future, especially in regards to my son. Any of the servants, or heaven forbid my own daughter, could have overheard your conversation today."

So Mrs Thornton had been listening! Margaret should not have been so surprised, yet she still felt as though the embarrassment would burn her alive.. It had been awful enough that there had been such unpleasantness with Mr Thornton, but to know that the scene had had an audience was utterly mortifying.

"Thank you for seeing me home." Margaret replied as the driver opened the door. "I am sorry if I have caused you inconvenience today, for it was truly not my intention."

Mrs Thornton held her gaze. Margaret did not flinch, nor did she look away. She would not be intimidated by Mrs Thornton, for she had done nothing to warrant it. It was not Margaret's fault this woman saw fit to interfere with her son's life. How apt that so many called this woman a dragon-her eyes held pure fire within them.

"You saved my son from a danger today, and I'll thank you for that. Those men would have torn him to pieces given half a chance. Rest, Miss Hale. You do not look yourself. Think about what I have said."

Margaret felt shame in her chest, as though she were caught in a vice. It crushed her, a squeezing kind of emptiness she could not describe.

"Good day, Mrs Thornton. Thank you, most sincerely, for your assistance."

"Are you sure you do not wish me to explain what happened today to your parents?"

"No! No, I don't want to worry my mother. She is not well." Margaret said, her hand tightening on the wood of the bench. "I would not like to cause her any alarm. Not when everything is right again."

"I'm sorry to hear it. I'll have a servant bring her the water mattress you wished to borrow, in hopes it might ease her suffering."

"Thank you. That is very kind." Margaret said. "We are most grateful to you."

"It is nothing. Now, are you sure you do not want me to speak with your father? Will they not wonder where you have been all day?"

"No. No, I wish to go inside with as little fuss as possible." Margaret took a shaky breath. "I really am sorry for causing so much trouble, Mrs Thornton."

"You're an impulsive sort, Miss Hale. Perhaps a little more thought would serve you well. Good day."

"Goodbye, Mrs Thornton. Thank you for your assistance." Margaret said once again, for it was all she could seem to muster.

The door opened and Margaret stepped out onto the street outside their home. She wondered if her father had seen the carriage, for he often looked out of the window at the street below just to pass the time. She fervently hoped that he had not, for there would only be questions that she did not want to answer.

Margaret opened the front door as quietly as she could, slipping inside and making it halfway up the stairs before her mother's voice rang out.

"Margaret? Is that you?"

Margaret paused by the door to the sitting room. She could not let her mother see her in her current state. Her dress was dusty, her skin apparently pale as she had been told many times by Mrs Thornton, and her hair was a terrible fright she was sure. No, she could not let her mother see her like this, for then there would only be endless questions and undue concern.

"Yes. I - I am sorry I am so late, I got waylaid. The streets are most dusty indeed, I must wash. And - and perhaps rest a while, for I have been walking some distance."

It felt difficult to speak, her mouth dry and her words confused. She knew if her mother saw her in this state, there would be no pretending that everything was well. It would devastate her mother to know that Margaret had succumbed to such an injury - and to know that she had acted so rashly in front of so many.

"Oh Margaret, you and your walks!" Her mother tittered. "Will you not come and kiss your Mama hello?"

Margaret's hand flew to the gash on her temple.

"Give me a little time, I look a fright!" Margaret said, trying desperately to conceal the panic in her voice. "I will be down soon."

Margaret rushed to her bedroom, closing the door and pressing her weight against it. Her heart hammered wildly, her head spinning with all that had happened. She felt as though she were being tossed about on the wild, open sea, her stomach churning.

She picked up her hand mirror, squinting in the dim light to try and see the cut. It had stopped bleeding long ago, and had been thoroughly cleaned by the doctor. It was rather small, once she had gotten a good look at it, and certainly less severe than all Fanny's hysteria had suggested. The area around it hurt to touch, and surely a bruise would bloom there in due course.

She picked up the cloth from the small washbasin that sat by the window, and poured some water from a jug. She washed her hands first, for they felt most gritty and unclean. Then, she soaked a cloth and wiped away the dried blood that was near her ear. As she rinsed the cloth, ribbons of red swirled into the water. Margaret watched them dance with one another until all the water was stained with the colour of her blood. She shook her head, wondering just why she was so transfixed by something so strange.

Looking in the mirror once more, she adjusted her hair so it covered the cut. There; practically good as new!

Though her injury was now covered, it would be a lie to say she felt well. There was a constant pain in her head, her thoughts clouded. She had been standing for too long and was rather dizzy. Her mouth felt strange too, as though her tongue had grown in size. Really, she felt rather wretched.

Margaret closed her eyes. As soon as her mind was dark, the image of Mr Thornton's face appeared and her eyes snapped open once more. She did not wish to see his face, even if it was only a figment of her own cruel imagination. It was all too confusing. Had anyone asked her opinion on the man a week ago, she would have said that he was not to her liking. Then why had she found herself pressed against him as though he were the most irresistible person who had ever lived? Why had he kissed her as she had never been kissed before, with such passion and tenderness? Why had she reciprocated in kind, her hands clinging to him with a desperation she did not recognise?

Why had his confession of love today made her blood run cold?


	6. Chapter Six

John watched with a scowl as the carriage left the yard. He should have gone too, for the streets were surely unsafe even now. The faint sound of whistles and shouting still echoed in the distance, but he could not bring himself to care. The worst of the trouble would be well away from Crampton, and his mother's passage home should be clear too. Princeton would bear the brunt of the violence, for the rats who had caused the riots would run right back to the hovels they had come from.

He could not stay here, dwelling on the day. He needed to walk, needed to get away from here. There was still work to be done, but for once John did not care. He left the mill without bother, walking through the now empty streets until he reached the hills above the city. The air was cleaner here, above the clouds of smoke that spewed from chimneys day and night. He stopped, looking down at the place that had raised and shaped him into the man he had become. It all looked so small from here, yet at the same time the factories and closely packed houses sprawled out as far as the eye could see.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Here, the air smelt like grass and late summer flowers. It was such a rare indulgence to come here, and he felt his heart slow from the frantic rhythm it had kept all day. He thought of Margaret. She always smelt like flowers, somehow. When he had kissed her, she had smelt like roses. How could anyone smell so pure in this place, where everything smelt like smoke and dirt?

He felt cowardly for leaving his mother to accompany her home; he should have done so himself, for he needed to see that she was safe and well. Hell, even if she did not care for him as he so desperately wished, the thought of her injured because of him - he felt sick with guilt. He should have been firmer in his instruction yesterday, for she was too headstrong to listen to any advice she did not appreciate. Behind his closed eyelids, images of the stone striking her flashed over and over again in his mind, growing worse and worse until all he could see was blood.

His eyes snapped open, and he chased the images from his mind. She was well. He would visit in the morning as soon as it was polite - for some small part of him hoped her behaviour this afternoon could be almost entirely blamed on the blow to the head she had received. One way or another, he had to know his fate.

He lingered until the light dimmed, the sky streaked purple and red as he began his walk back to the mill. By the time he reached home, it was almost entirely dark. He entered the parlour as the clock struck ten. His mother sat in her chair, repairing the linens. She did not lift her head at the sound of his footsteps, but he had no doubt she knew full well he was standing behind her.

"You're back, then."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to be so late."

"Where've you been?" She asked. "You've been gone hours."

"Walking."

"And where have you been walking? The servants said you left not long after Miss Hale and I. Where've you been all this time?"

"Just walking. Thinking." He sat down heavily on the settee, feeling his head begin to pulse. Now he thought about it, he hadn't eaten all day.

"Little use in asking what about, I suppose."

He did not answer her, changing the subject to one that would not result in an uncomfortable conversation he was not quite ready for.

"It has been a long day. I thought you'd be in bed, you must be exhausted."

"I am quite well. John-"

"Mother, please."

"I saw you."

He should have known this was coming. He knew full well his mother had seen him whispering to Margaret, for he had seen the appalled look on her face at the discovery. He had known she would scold him for his lack of candour, and he was too perplexed by the day's events to have such a conversation.

"What?"

"I saw you, on your knees in front of Miss Hale. I heard the pair of you whispering together in a way that can only mean one thing. What are you thinking of? If the servants had seen, there'd be no saving you both from the gossip."

"What gossip?"

"You think the whole town is not talking about today? A woman such as Miss Hale throwing herself between you and a mob baying for your blood could do nothing but ignite talk! The servants have been clucking all afternoon. It has been a veritable henhouse today, not a lick of work done between the lot of them."

"Pay no mind to gossip, Mother."

"John, what has passed between you? Are you engaged?"

"No. No, we are not."

"Something has happened. The look on her face when I walked in, and yours too. This is not like you, John. You've certainly never behaved so carelessly."

"It's nothing."

"You will visit her tomorrow?" Mother asked.

Her voice was tight, the lines around her mouth visible even in the dim candlelight. Her disdain for the idea was poorly hidden. It was no secret that Miss Hale was no favourite in this household, for Fanny had been quite vocal in her dislike for Miss Hale - though John thought that was mostly jealousy, caused by Fanny's infuriating obsession with London and all things frivolous. Though his mother had never said that she did not like Miss Hale outright, she had expressed strong enough opinions of that nature. He did not want to go against his mother, yet this was not her decision to make, nor Fanny's. He wanted Margaret Hale for his wife, and the other women in his life would have to learn to like her.

"I'll visit the house tomorrow. You know what I will have to say."

"You could do nothing but." His mother said. "Not after today."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are bound in honour. That girl's reputation could have been ruined today, and yours with it. A servant twisting what I saw would be enough to damage you both. Never mind that I saw her leave your office not two days ago."

John swallowed heavily. He had been foolish enough to think nobody would notice Margaret Hale slipping out of his office in the middle of the day. Whatever this passion that suddenly overwhelmed him was, it had clearly robbed him of his senses. Of course, Mother had seen her, for his mother saw everything. He slumped in the chair as the realities of the dangerous game he had been playing with Miss Hale these past few days hit him.

"Mother, I love her."

John had not voiced his feelings to anyone other than Margaret, and to finally share this secret with the woman who had shaped his character felt like a relief. He had clearly done a poor job of hiding it, as her face did not even flicker at his declaration.

"I know. I've seen a change in you before you even saw it in yourself."

"Did - did Miss Hale speak of me at all?" John asked, though truly he was not sure if he wished to know the answer.

A pause.

"She did."

"What did she say?"

His mother hesitated, halting her sewing mid-stitch. She sighed heavily, setting her work aside and leaning forward to reach out to him. He placed his hands in hers, his heart hammering in his chest as he wondered what she was about to reveal.

"Before you get cross with me, son, know that I am speaking truthfully, as I have always done. It would be remiss of me if I did not ask you if you are certain of her affections for you. I'll not see you humiliated by that girl, not for anything."

"Humiliated?" He blinked, his face twisting into a frown. "Why would she do that? What exactly did she say to you?"

Mother shook her head, and he was sure his own frown was mirrored on her face.

"Why, she denied anything more than an acquaintance with you. She seemed most offended at the implication there was any sort of attachment. Does she think I am so blind?"

It did not surprise him in the least that Margaret had denied knowing him in any intimate manner. What they had done was shameful, and he would be in no hurry to admit such behaviour to Mr Hale if their roles had been reversed. Yet it stung to hear that she had been so quick to deny him.

"It is private, Mother, between Miss Hale and I. Whatever mistake I've made thinking with my heart over my mind, I'll rectify it. I - I dare to believe she might care for me. She was confused today, I think she was not herself. I hope that is all it is." He removed his hands from his mother's, scrubbing at his face. "Mother, I do not know what I shall do if she refuses me."

Margaret's earlier words echoed in his mind, her weak protestations that she required more time. Surely a night would be enough? Any longer and he would send himself mad trying to understand what was going on. No, this needed to end. One way or another, he must know where Miss Hale's heart truly lay. Perhaps this was a common occurrence for her, something in his mind sneered. Perhaps she used her good looks and charming manners to taunt men for her own amusement. He shook his head, banishing the thought. What use would that be? She was too well-bred, too strong in her own mind to behave in such an immoral way. He recalled his accusation of such a thing right to her face, cursing his own temper. She had been hurt, the expression on her face could not be mistaken for anything other than insult.

His mother's voice snapped him out of his melancholic ruminations.

"She has shown her true feelings to the world, however much she might try to deny it. Flinging herself between you and an angry mob without a care for her own safety - there's not many folk'd do that for someone they held no affection for." She picked up her pile of sewing once more, and stared down at the piece of linen in her hand. "These shall have to be changed. They'll bear your initials now, yours and hers."

He did not know what to say to that; he had seen those linens every day of his life with his own parents' initials in each corner. To think that they might be replaced, that he might soon have a wife of his own filled him with both trepidations and, in a smaller amount, joy. She would refuse him, he was certain of it. A woman as fine as Miss Hale could never love him.

John had never known a morning to drag so slowly. Every glance at his watch showed only a few moments had passed, yet each tick of the clock's hand felt like hours. He was restless, his feet tapping at the floor as he tried to work, unable to keep still - reminding him that he needed to be somewhere.

By half past ten, he was no longer able to stay away. He left the mill, clutching a gift of fruit for Mrs Hale as some vague reason to be calling at such an early hour, walking to Crampton at such a speed he was surprised the soles of his shoes could withstand such pounding. He knocked at the door, adjusting his hat.

The door opened and he was surprised to see Margaret herself answer. She looked equally surprised to see him, though she stepped aside wordlessly.

"Miss Hale."

"Mr Thornton. Dixon is occupied with my mother at the moment, that is why I answered the door. I am afraid my father is not here."

"I have come to see you, Miss Hale." He said quietly. "Might I have a word?"

"Of course. Follow me."

He still wore his coat and hat, but he followed her into the small dining room into which she beckoned him. She allowed him to pass first, before closing the door behind them. He balked a little at such a gesture, for it was not proper for -

He almost laughed; it was far too late to care for what was proper now.

"I've brought some fruit for your mother. I hope she is feeling a little better." He set the fruit down on the table, the redness of the berries bright against the dark wood of the table.

"A little, yes. I must thank your family for the loan of the water mattress, for it has certainly made things easier for her."

"I'm glad of it." John cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you, Miss Hale."

Margaret stiffened, her neck tightening. She swallowed, her hands clasping together as she seemed to recover herself. She offered him a smile, though it did not reach her eyes. She was an intimidating sort of woman, though he was unsure if that was intentional or merely a natural consequence of her beauty. He had never before been reduced to a gibbering mess before by any girl, yet Miss Hale seemed to rob him of his wits with the smallest glance.

"I owe you an apology. For I was unforgivably rude to you after you had been so kind to me and had taken such considerate care for my wellbeing. I owe you a great debt, I am certain."

He blinked, surprised at the unexpected sincerity of her thanks. He had half expected some grapple, the usual battle of words that seemed to come easier than anything else. Yet she seemed to be genuine in her gratitude.

"There is no debt. You saved me." John said, removing his gloves and setting them down beside the fruit.

Margaret shook her head. She looked well, he conceded, at least in comparison with the previous day. However, her eyes were ringed by dark shadows and held an undeniable sadness.

"I placed you in danger. The men are desperate, but I did not realise just how desperate. If you were to be reasonable,show them a little understandi-"

"You think I'm unreasonable?" John interrupted. "Those men could have killed you, and still you take their side!"

Her eyes widened, though she swallowed whatever she was trying to say. She was measured in all that she did, her voice soft and even, her hands clasped together tightly. He could not help but feel she was speaking to him in the manner one might address a petulant child. He must be mad to think it was a good idea to come here, that this whole thing wasn't a waste of time; she had made her feelings quite clear yesterday. She was not on his side. She never had been.

"They are desperate! Their children are starving, near death. I have heard their cries, I have seen gaunt faces and hollow eyes, what else am I meant to think?" Margaret argued. "I wish to see peace and compromise, not violence and death!"

"You must think me a monster for inflicting such cruelty." He said stiffly. "The troublemakers will get what they deserve, I assure you. Those who wish to work honestly are welcome back."

"I do not think you a monster. I just wish there could be some way of settling this divide!" Margaret's hand raised to her temple, rubbing at the spot that had been hit the previous day. "I am sorry, I am in no condition to argue this."

He softened then, watching as she sat down. Her hand did not leave her head, fingers kneading at the spot which the rock had struck the previous day. Despite his temper and cruel words, he dropped to his knees beside her once more. It did not feel right to loom above her, and he could not leave while she was in pain.

"You're unwell."

She looked up, seemingly surprised to see him beside her. She shook her head, but did not rise.

"No. No, I am merely tired and a little bruised. My friend Bessie Higgins, she is dying. It is her chest."

Another divide, another reminder of what she thought he was capable of. Higgins' daughter had worked for him, he knew that. Plenty of workers had died of fluff on their lungs. It was not something that sat easily with him; he worked to lessen the fluff in the sheds. It made sound business sense to install the wheels; experienced, long standing workers led to less accidents, less mistakes. He valued his worker's health, and worked hard to make his mill as safe as he could. Despite doing all that he could, there was no way of removing all the dangers.

"And that is my fault too, I suppose?"

Her eyes snapped upwards, her lips drawn tight.

"No. It is not your fault, Sir, but I am exhausted. If you wish to argue, I must ask that you return another time for I am in no mood. Bessie Higgins does not think you a monster, nor does she hold you responsible for her condition. She does not wish you ill, perhaps you would do better to show her some respect."

Her sharp words stung him as surely as a slap to the cheek. She was right - what was he doing, using the sickness of some wretched girl as a personal insult?

"I am sorry. It was wrong of me to speak in such a way. Miss Hale, I do not wish to argue with you. I wish - I want-" He shook his head. "Now I am here, I cannot find the words."

"Mr Thornton-"

"Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong." He took a deep, heaving breath. "I wanted to ask you if you-"

"Stop."

"Excuse me?"

"Do not continue in this way. It is not the way of a gentleman."

"I am all too aware that in your eyes I am not a gentleman, but I do not know how I am being offensive."

"It offends me that you speak to me in such a way and in the next breath presume to ask me to marry you!" Margaret countered. "I think you a man of honour, sir, no matter what you might think of me."

"These past days, our embraces, what were they? Some sort of game?"

"No, not a game. Not a game at all. I cannot explain it, even to myself."

This had been a ridiculous idea; she had made herself clear enough yesterday but he continued to cling to the absurd hope that her hesitation was merely the result of some head injury - rather than facing the truth that, no matter how many passionate moments they had stolen together, she had shown him little more than contempt for the entirety of her time in Milton.

"I should go."

"I think," Margaret interrupted as his hand reached for the doorknob. "I think I should like to get to know you. Properly, I mean. We have kissed, but I scarcely know you at all. I wish to know you."

"To court?" John asked finally, his back still turned.

"Might I look at you?" She asked, and he turned dutifully to face her. "Thank you. I don't know if courting would be appropriate. Not at the moment." Margaret exhaled shakily. "I truly - I truly do not understand what has come over me these past few days. My emotions - they overwhelm me. Please, do not ask me to make a decision as enormous as this now."

"Unmarried men and women are not friends, Miss Hale." John said. "Perhaps things are different in the South, but here it is not the done thing. The event at the mill - I fear it has already sparked a great deal of gossip."

"I do not care about gossip." Margaret said, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her lie. "I will not make so great a decision based on the tittle-tattle of serving girls, Sir."

Was she mocking him? He was not sure. He could not work her out, nor get the measure of her. She seemed to talk in circles, her words swerving one way and then another,tying him in knots.

"You are trying to be kind, I think. To reject me slowly, rather than all at once. Do not toy with me, Miss Hale. You wish to end whatever has passed between us? Then do it. I did not take you for a coward."

"A coward, sir? I have been accused of enough by your mother, I will not take insult from you too."

"My mother?" He asked. "What does she have to do with all this?"

"I can assure you that she had plenty to say to me, none of it pleasant. I am sure she will be pleased that I have not accepted your proposal. Please excuse me, Mr Thornton, for I find myself exhausted."

"No."

"No? You would keep me here? I mistook you for a gentleman."

"I did not take you for cruel, Miss Hale, but you toy with me in a way that is certainly not fair. Is this a game to you? Am I just one among countless others to have offered you their heart?"

"How dare you! You think so little of me?! You claim to love me but cast doubts over all aspects of my character merely because I am not bending to your will? I am not your employee, Mr Thornton. You cannot frighten me."

"You think me such an ogre I would frighten you into marrying me?! I thought - I thought you cared for me, Miss Hale. I see I am mistaken."

"I am sorry for my behaviour. It was wrong, and I cannot explain it. You scarcely know me, Mr Thornton, and I must admit I have seen many things about you that I do not admire."

"I will take my leave. I am sorry to have caused you offence. I must be mad, Miss Hale, to imagine that a woman pressing her lips to mine meant that she cared for me." His voice shook with anger, and he swallowed heavily. "It is clear to me now that I am merely a source of amusement to you, a fool who's heart can be played as easily as a fiddle."

"You misunderstand me, Mr Thornton!"

"No, I don't think that I do."

"I can assure you that you do!" Margaret said, rising to her feet and walking over to him. "You really are infuriating, Mr Thornton! I am trying to explain how I am feeling yet you choose only to hear what you wish to! Are you determined to be angry with me for merely speaking my mind over my own future?"

"No, but it is quite clear what you wish to say."

"Is it? Well isn't that fortunate! Perhaps you could tell me then, for I am afraid that I do not know at all."

"You regret what has happened between us."

"In some ways, yes. In others, I do not."

"Yet my courtship would be unwelcome."

"Yes. Forgive me, Mr Thornton. I am unused to such attention and I fear poorly prepared to-"

"Reject them?"

"Understand them. Do you not see - we can hardly have a civil conversation! What basis is that for a marriage? Would you really expect me to marry you when we have so little understanding of one another?"

"What would getting to know one another entail? I cannot have more occasions like my office, Miss Hale. It is not right."

"No. No, that was most wrong indeed. Continue your lessons with my father, sir. I shall see you then."

"And then?"

"I do not know."

That was enough. There was nothing to be said; she did not wish to marry him, however earnestly she claimed to want a friendship. He would not stay, could not stay, to be made a fool of.

"I am quite clear, Miss Hale. You wish for our attachment to end. I will continue my lessons with your father, he is my friend. You need not worry yourself about being my friend, I'd not put you through it."

She shook her head in exasperation, but he had tired of her endless excuses. He valued plain talk and honesty, and he would find neither here.

"Mr Thornton, you don't understand-"

"I understand, Miss Hale. I understand you completely."

* * *

**A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry for the delay in updating, I had to have my appendix out in June and I've really been struggling with recovery so writing was pretty..blargh. Chapter 7 is almost finished so hopefully there won't be as long a wait for that one. Thank you for reading!**


	7. Chapter Seven

"What, he just left?" Bessie asked, leaning back against the pillows. "Without so much as a goodbye?"

"Yes." Margaret said. "I am afraid I have offended him most grievously. I did not mean to reject him outright, at least - at least I don't think that I did. But the way he spoke to me, he would not listen to a word I said!"

"Oh Margaret, what a tizz you've got yourself in! I thought you cared for him."

"I do not know what I feel!" Margaret protested for what felt like the tenth time that day. "I certainly do not dislike him as strongly as perhaps I once did."

"Hmm, that's generous of you." Bessie picked up the collars Margaret had brought her. "These are too generous an' all, Missy. You'll be takin' 'em back from whence they came. Tryin' to butter me up so I don't wallop you for bein' so silly?"

Margaret tried desperately to smile. It was so wonderful to hear Bessie make a joke, for the previous day Margaret had been summoned by Mary in a terrible hurry. Bessie had become so weak from coughing, Margaret was sure yesterday would be the last time she would see her friend. Yet today Margaret had arrived in Princeton to find her friend alert and in good spirits. She had brought some old collars for Bessie and Mary too, but that was mostly an excuse to leave the house after the terrible business with Mr Thornton.

"Oh Bessie, stop teasing me. I wore these when I was a child, I think if I were trying to win you over I would need something far finer. I know you must think me quite the fool."

"I just don't understand it." Bessie shifted, trying to get comfortable. Margaret leant forward, adjusting the pillow behind her back. "I was certain you were smitten last time I saw you. Kissin' in corners and all sorts!"

"Please." Margaret shook her head. "Don't even joke. I have behaved wrongly, and now everything is in such a terrible mess. What if he refuses to come for lessons anymore? My father has so little to look forward to, and Mother is growing worse by the day."

"I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sure you can set this right." Bessie wheezed heavily, but she waved away any offer of help. "Make it right. What use is it lyin' to yerself that you feel nothin' for him, when you're sitting here near tears? You cling to yer pride all you like, but all I know is - if I had a chance for love, I'd take it."

"Bessie-"

"No use denying it. I've not long left, we both know it. I've spent my life workin' for men who don't know me to pass on t'street. What have I got to show for it? Nothing but lungs that aren't fit to take a breath. Thornton's a good man, no matter what folk say about him. He's tough, that's why they don't like him. But he int cruel."

"I know." Margaret agreed. "The more I come to understand Milton, the more I see that I was unfair to him to think him cruel. Is everyone back at work?"

"Aye. Pa's not in a good way, angry at the men who broke the strike. Did you hear? Violence towards a woman, what were they thinking of?"

"I'm sure whatever was done was not so bad."

"It was enough."

Margaret stared down at the lace in her hands, knowing she must tell her friend the truth.

"It was me."

"What?"

"The woman involved in the violence, it was me. I am surprised you did not hear, for I saw many familiar faces in that crowd. Boucher was there. I have never seen a man look so wild, I was scared of what he might do."

"Aye, I knew that. He's still missing, too scared to go home while police are out lookin' for 'im. His poor wife is in quite a state. It were you, truly?"

"Yes. I - I bid Mr Thornton to go and reason with them, but I knew as soon as he stepped out that he was in danger. I should not have made him go, for it was not fair to him. There were so many of them, all of them angry - he could have been killed and I would have been the one to order him there!"

"It weren't your fault, he did not have to go. Then what? If Thornton were the one out there, how did you-"

"I ran out after him, placed myself between him and the mob." Margaret explained. "I was cast down by a stone, I do not remember much of what happened after but I found myself in the Thorntons' house."

"What? But that were just yesterday morning, you were here when I were ill!"

"Yes."

"And you with a head wound, running around t'streets? Margaret!"

Margaret looked away, embarrassed by Bessie's concern. It was not warranted, for she had been quite well. A little tired perhaps, and her body had ached where she had fallen - but it did not matter.

"You needed me. I was fine, just a little bruised."

"What did Thornton say?"

"He-" Margaret took a deep breath. "He told me that he loved me."

"Do you love him?" Bessie asked after a long silence.

Margaret looked up from folding and unfolding the collars. Bessie was staring straight at her. Margaret looked back, saddened by the pallor of her friend's skin. Her eyes, however, still held a little of the fire Margaret was so fond of - despite her weakening condition, Bessie had lost none of her spirit. Margaret felt tears gathering, for she knew her friend would soon be gone. She was wasting so much time, Bessie was right. Where was the sense in that?

"I - I-"

But their conversation had been too much for her friend because Bessie began to cough, so suddenly and so fiercely that her skin began to turn blue. Margaret patted her back in a panic, trying to soothe her as she gasped and spluttered. Mary ran in from outside, alerted by the noise. All thoughts of love and Mr Thornton were forgotten as Margaret tried to ease the suffering of the girl she had come to care for so dearly, but would lose all too soon.

Upon returning home, Margaret had no time to dwell on Bessie's words. Mr Bell was still in Milton, and Margaret sat with their guest and her parents. She had a new book she had been meaning to read for some time, and buried her head in it hoping that she would not be engaged in conversation.

She had forgotten about the fruit, still on the table where Mr Thornton had left it.

"How kind of Mr Thornton!" Her mother exclaimed.

"The most splendid fruit I have ever seen. The best in the county I shouldn't wonder."

"It shows his high regard for you, my dear."

"Margaret!" Her mother spoke to her directly now, and Margaret had no choice but to raise her head. "You must visit Marlborough Mills and give Mr Thornton our thanks in person for such a wonderful gift."

"I am sure a note would do as well, Mama." Margaret said.

She certainly had no wish to face Mr Thornton under the current circumstances, for he would surely be most angry at her. Well, good. Let him be angry, for if he had cared to listen for a moment or two it would have served him far better than the assumptions he had been determined to make about her. Still, her heart was racing, her stomach churning at the thought of seeing him once more.

"I saw Thornton in the street today, not far from here." Mr Bell remarked, and Margaret did not like the way he looked at her while he said it. "He didn't seem quite so in control as usual. He seemed rather distracted today. I thought he might have been visiting, he was just nearby."

Margaret's gaze returned to her book, trying to think what Mr Bell meant. Certainly, he had been angry when he had left, but he had seemed in control of his senses. She thought of Bessie's words again.

_Do you love him?_

"Margaret?"

"Excuse me."

Margaret left the room, feeling her throat tighten and eyes well. She walked up the stairs to her room, suddenly fatigued. It was too much. This was all too much.

A year ago, her life had felt entirely her own. She did what she wished, went where she wished and spoke to who she wished. Now, whisked away to this place by her father, nothing felt like hers anymore. In Helstone, she had loved the fields and the flowers, always enveloped by the scent of nature. Even that had been taken from her, leaving only grey buildings and dirty chimneys in its place. What she wouldn't give to return to Helstone, to live that life again without the shadows of death and misery that haunted her here.

Margaret slept poorly that night. She tossed and turned, her mind conjuring cruel and taunting images as soon as she managed to drift into sleep. Twisted visions of her brother on the gallows, of Bessie cold and lifeless, of her mother meeting the same fate..and of John. She dreamt what would have happened if she had not gone out there, if she had not intervened. She dreamt of him dead, lying in a pool of his own blood surrounded by jeering men.

She awoke with a gasp, her chest heaving and her forehead damp with perspiration. She swallowed heavily, gripping at the bedsheets as she tried to calm herself. She sobbed, for she was so troubled by the things her mind had been wicked enough to conjure when it should have been resting.

When she had calmed, she lay back down. When it came to her, sleep was blissfully dreamless.

The next morning, after little sleep and feeling no more certain of her feelings than she had the previous day, Margaret set out to Princeton. Perhaps Bessie would cheer her up, for Bessie seemed far wiser on these matters than Margaret. Margaret felt as though Besise could see right into her soul, she was so astute in her observations - though Margaret would not admit that to Bessie, nor herself if truth be told.

She knocked on the door, wishing she had brought something with her. Bessie had so enjoyed the small gifts from yesterday, little scraps of lace that they were. If only they had more money, Margaret thought, to help Bessie and her family further. Pride would stop them accepting, Margaret knew, and that made her feel all the more helpless.

Mary answered the door, and Margaret turned to greet her.

"I've come for a chat with Bessie."

It was then that Margaret saw the look in Mary's eyes, and the tears that stained her face. The house was dark behind her, and Margaret's heart leapt to her throat.

"Oh Miss." Mary whispered, shaking her head and stepping aside so that Margaret could come in.

Taking a deep breath, knowing what she would find and that nothing could truly prepare her for such a sight, Margaret stepped into the tiny house.

There was Bessie, lying on the bed. Though she looked peaceful and serene, even in the dim light there was no mistaking the pallor of her skin. Margaret moved closer, knowing that there was nothing to be afraid of. Bessie deserved more than that. She looked at her friend's face; it was as if she was only sleeping. She looked truly at peace, more so than she had in her life, for the cares and burdens of a mortal life had left her now.

"I weren't here." Mary said through her tears. "I were out fetchin' sommat."

"It's alright, Mary." Margaret could not think of any words at all that could comfort her.

They stood in silence for a few moments. Margaret closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for Bessie's soul. The door opened, and Margaret jumped at the burst of noise that broke through the stillness of the room. It was Nicholas, home at last.

She could do little to comfort the man, distraught that his daughter had died alone. Though Bessie's soul had left this world without witness, Margaret was truly comforted by just how peaceful she looked in death. No more pain, no more suffering. Nicholas sobbed over her body, and Margaret could not bear to see it. It was wrong, as Nicholas said, for a child to die before their parents. It was not fair. None of this was fair.

"I will go and get my father." Margaret said, but she did not know what use it would do really. He was experienced in death, and would surely know what to do. "I will come back."

Margaret walked home, the grief that overwhelmed her quite unlike anything she had ever known. She had been strong for the sake of Mary and Nicholas; she had known Bessie for such a short time, it would have been wrong to show her own grief. It was all so unfair, so bitterly unfair. She wanted to cry and scream with the injustice of it, that someone as kind and full of life as Bessie could be snatched away at such a young age.

"Miss Hale."

Margaret did not look up at the sound of her name, not wishing to speak to anyone. She did not wish to do anything except climb into her bed and sleep away this terrible day.

"Miss Hale!"

A tug at her elbow gave her little choice but to stop, and she looked up.

"Mr Thornton. I am sorry, I did not hear you."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going home. I must fetch my father." She felt her throat tighten at the prospect of saying exactly why she needed her father. She repeated herself, fearing Mr Thornton had not heard her for he was looking at her in a most peculiar way. "I am just going home."

"You're going the wrong way. And you almost walked in the path of a wagon."

Margaret looked around, seeing her surroundings for the first time. Blinking, she realised she had indeed walked in entirely the wrong direction - she was near the mill and other factories. It must almost be lunchtime, and soon the streets would be filled with workers. She looked back at Mr Thornton, who was staring at her most intently. His jaw was set tightly, not even the slightest echo of warmth on his face.

"Oh. Oh, of course." She nodded. "I didn't even realise I was so off course. Thank you for your assistance."

"Is something the matter?"

She shook her head, fearing that if she voiced her problem that she would burst into tears.

"Nothing. I must get home, my father is required in Princeton. I was meant to fetch him, I must have been terribly -" She took a deep breath, aware she was speaking too quickly. "Please, do not let me take up any more of your time."

"Very well, Miss Hale. I understand."

"Bessie died." Margaret blurted out, unable to hold the words in any longer. "My friend, Bessie Higgins. She died, John."

"I'm sorry."

"That is why I must fetch my father… though I do not know what good he shall be."

"Let me walk you home." He said. "You're in no state to be alone."

"I am fine, I would not ask that of you."

"You are not asking it of me." He replied stiffly.

Though she had no wish to be in anyone's company at the moment (and certainly not his), she did not protest. Perhaps her mind was a little cloudy, for she could think of nothing but Bessie lying on her bed in Princeton.

"Alright."

Margaret walked beside him, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. She could think only that she would never see Bessie again, never laugh with her, or see her smile. What an unlikely friendship, yet it had been the most meaningful of her life. Bessie did not care for manners or pretences; she was honest, wry and sharp.

"I am sorry for the loss of your friend."

"Thank you."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Do? No, no I don't think so." Margaret shook her head. "I am sorry, I am not myself. What poor company I must be."

"I would see you home safe. That is all."

"Of course." She nodded, though she resolved to make at least some sort of conversation. Perhaps distraction would rid her of this horrible empty pit in her stomach. "Things have returned to normal? The workers have returned."

"Yes."

"I am glad of it."

"It'll take a while to get back to where we were." He said stiffly. "I hope you are recovered."

"I am tired." Margaret admitted before she could snatch the words back. "These last few days have been difficult."

"I am sorry." He gritted out.

Did he think she was blaming him for her troubles? For as much as she wished to talk some sense into him, he was not to blame. She was the one who went out when he had warned her to stay at home, she had sent him out - and she had chosen to defend him. She did not regret that, but she certainly found herself regretting the argument that had transpired the following day. She swallowed heavily; now was not the time to think about this.

"I am sorry too. I can walk from here, I should not take up any more of your time. I hope that I shall see you at your lesson? Father is looking forward to your visit, I know."

His brow furrowed, and she knew for certain that he had not forgotten their argument. He had done her a kindness, but she had been mistaken in thinking it an act of friendship.

"I'm afraid I am very busy. I will send word when I can call again." He said tightly, and any ideas that he had moved past his anger ather vanished from her mind.

"Thank you. I will not attend if you do not wish me to, but please do not stop your lessons on my account. I just-"

"Rest, Miss Hale. I am sorry for the loss of your friend. Truly, I am."

Margaret looked up. He was looking at her most sincerely, and she chose to believe him. He was not an entirely unfeeling man, and it would be a cold man indeed who felt nothing at all upon hearing of the death of a woman so young as Bessie.

"Thank you. It was not your fault, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Bessie. She worked at a different mill. Her father moved her to yours as soon as she sickened, hoping it would ease her suffering." Margaret was not sure why she was telling him any of this, nor of why she wished to reassure him Bessie did not die at his hand.

In fact, Margaret was not sure why she was talking to him at all because just the day before she had been utterly infuriated with him. But now, walking side by side as he wished to see her home safely - she felt grateful for him. How odd.

"I am only sorry it did not."

"So am I." Margaret agreed softly. "Mr Thornton, I owe you an apology."

"I think I owe it to you, Miss Hale. You made your feelings quite clear, and I was wrong to speak to you in such a way. Please, don't think any more of the matter."

"But-"

"I trust you can see your way from here?"

"John-"

"Good day to you, Miss Hale."

"Oh for pity's sake, will you just listen to me!" Margaret exclaimed.

The street was quiet, mercifully so, for if news of her sudden outburst had reached her mother she would have received a terrible scolding for forgetting her manners in such an unladylike fashion.

"Pardon?"

"You seem to talk over me, sir, and not listen to what I have to say for myself. Perhaps if you had a care enoughto hear me, rather than merely assuming you know best, you might be all the better for it."

"What do you want to say?"

"I - I meant what I said. I wish to understand you better, to know you."

"As a friend, aye I remember that well Miss Hale."

The scorn in his voice was poorly hidden, and Margaret could barely contain her own. Really, it seemed quite impossible to speak to this man in a civil manner.

"Surely you must know that I care for you in more than a friendly manner, Mr Thornton. My indiscretions must have made that much clear." Margaret said, knowing her words were almost outrageously bold. She did not care.

Mr Thornton stared straight ahead as they continued to walk, but Margaret did not miss the slight twitch of his lip. Was that - a smile? Margaret almost laughed, then was swept away by a surge of guilt, knowing this was not a time for such frivolities.

"Margaret?" Margaret lifted her head, finding her father in front of her. "Hello, dear. And John! What a surprise."

"I was seeing Miss Hale home." He tipped his hat to both of them. "Good day to both of you."

Margaret swallowed heavily as she watched him walk back the way they had come.

"Are you alright, Margaret? You look rather pale."

"I was coming for you, Father. Bessie - I'm afraid Bessie has-"

She did not need to finish her sentence, for the grief was plain to see in her face and her father merely nodded, took her arm and walked silently with her to Princeton. Now was not the time to think of Mr Thornton, but to say goodbye to her friend.


	8. Chapter Eight

As summer gave way to autumn, Margaret found herself feeling rather out of sorts. There was little to look forward to; she felt an overwhelming sense of dread that consumed her, for she knew that Fred would have received her letter and was possibly on his way to England. Her mother's health worsened a little with each passing day, however much Dixon tried to deny it. Two things played on her mind constantly; the grave risk posed to Fred by coming to England at all, and the very real possibility that their mother would die before he got here - meaning he would have placed himself in danger for nothing.

In an effort to keep these thoughts from driving her quite mad, she strived to stay as busy as possible. She walked for miles every day, until her feet hurt and her body was weary. She spent time in Princeton, though some days that only served to hurt her more, for the loss of Bessie was still raw in her heart. She missed her friend bitterly.

Margaret had never felt so alone.

The resumption of production at the mills meant Mr Thornton had been too busy to attend his regular lesson, and Margaret was unsure if she was glad of this or not. She had not seen him for many weeks, and she found herself thinking every dark haired man in a hat that she saw out of the corner of her eye was him. But no, there had been no sign of him.

In the dying days of summer, as the trees turned brown and the air chilled, Margaret had received an invitation to attend the Great Exhibition with her aunt. At her mother's urging, she now found herself in London, standing in Hyde Park and looking upon the most astounding thing she had ever seen.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Edith chirped, looping her arm through Margaret's as they approached the enormous glass structure. "I have never seen anything so exotic, even in all my travels!"

"It is wonderful." Margaret agreed, taking in the unusual architecture as it grew nearer. "But so strange! It looks as if the building is from another world, quite out of place. And full of such marvels, I feel blessed to see such a thing."

"I am so glad you joined us! I am only sorry Aunt Hale could not be here too."

"I am to tell her all about it when I return. I must remember every detail, or she will be most displeased!"

"I am sure you could never do anything to displease her, Margaret! Now, what shall we see first?"

Their time at the Exhibition slipped by frustratingly easily, for Margaret felt they had barely scratched the surface of all there was to see. She watched as Maxwell and Henry made self important conversation as they remarked upon machinery they knew nothing about. How tiresome it was, to hear men wax lyrical about things they did not understand.

She swallowed down such disloyal thoughts; the Lennox brothers were not bad men, perhaps she was being too harsh on them. She found it increasingly irritating, however, to feign interest when all that she wished to do was take in the splendor around her in silence. To observe every detail, to touch and to hear and to learn, without being told what she must see and how she must react. Edith was no better, squealing with delight over anything and everything, with Aunt Shaw barely disguising her sneers at things that were not to her taste.

Oh, Margaret thought, how wonderful it would be to be alone in this place. To wander freely, to spend hours looking at what she wished. It was a folly, really, for the place was packed with people. Still, one could dream.

"I suppose it's only right," Aunt Shaw began as they walked past some ornate chairs, "That we've invited people from all over the empire. Even if some of the exhibits are a little..exotic."

That last word hung in the air, the tone of her voice clear to anyone who heard it that she did not care for that which she did not understand. Margaret paid her no mind, her eyes still fixed on the sumptuous objects that surrounded her.

"I think it's wonderful." Margaret stated simply. "It is as if the whole world is here for us to see."

"I was impressed by the machinery. I have to say, I never realised the power of it, or the money to be made in cotton. Maybe we should go into cotton."

Margaret opened her mouth, but closed it quickly as she realised a laugh she could not suppress would escape if she tried to speak. Oh, it was not kind to laugh but really! That Maxwell, sweet, simple Maxwell thought he had the drive and the business acumen to succeed in an industry such as that. She did not need to pass comment, for Henry spoke words not dissimilar to her own thoughts.

"I think it would take rather more energy than you have, Maxwell. We don't need heavy machinery to make money in London. Nor do we need to suffer the Northern climate. Do we, Miss Hale?" Margaret turned, finding his eyes fixed on hers. She looked at him questioningly. "I ask the expert amongst us."

"It is true." Margaret agreed. "The air is not so clean in Milton."

_Then why do I miss it so very much?_

She walked on, not wishing to dwell on the subject for much longer. There was so much to see, why waste time consumed in conversations that had taken place half a dozen times before? What would Mr Thornton have to say, she wondered, about Maxwell's idea? Oh, she smiled, for she was certain that he would have no patience for such follies. No, cotton seemed to be an industry that consumed those who were involved; Mr Thornton had certainly dedicated himself to it.

"You're all here to see this fine machinery. Technologically, we're the envy of the world."

As though she had thought him into existence, there he was.

She blinked, for it did not seem possible that he was standing here before her. What was he doing here? Her father had made no mention of Mr Thornton being in London for the exhibition, and he had spoken of the man often. Too often, Margaret had thought at times when each mention of the man's name was like a stab to her heart.

She stopped, listening as he spoke to a small group of men who were gathered around him. She wished to hear him speak in a professional capacity, to know a different side to him. She had seen him as Master, but she had never heard him speak to his equals on the subject.

"If only there was a mechanism to enable us all to live together. To take advantage of the great benefits that come from industry. But that will be for future generations. We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique, but we cannot stop man behaving as he always has."

"Do you think we could bring about an end to strikes?"

"Not in my lifetime. But with time and patience, we might try and breed them of their bitterness." He looked up, catching her eye. "Miss Hale here knows of the depths we Milton men have fallen to."

She swallowed heavily as the men turned to look at her. She felt a strange kind of fury, for his conception of her missed the mark by some way.

"I certainly do not think that." She said, burning with humiliation as these strange men ran their eyes up and down her. "As Mr Thornton would tell you, if he knew me at all."

As she turned away, a hand caught her elbow. She turned to face him.

"I'm sorry. That was not fair."

"No. It was not." Margaret replied. "I do not know why you would say such a thing."

"Miss Hale!" Margaret's head turned at the sound of her name.

Seeing Fanny Thornton in London was unexpected, yet somehow made far more sense to Margaret than her brother's presence here. Fanny had spoken often of her desperation to travel to the capital, and Margaret was pleased she had finally managed it. Though Margaret did not hold London in high regard, she did appreciate the abundance of culture that was to be found. Fanny greeted her with a tight, forced smile, appraising her with a cool look in her eyes.

"You've managed to come to London at last."

"Mother allowed it only because John was coming. And Miss Latimer, of course. Who she approves of. Greatly." Fanny said with a pointed look at her friend. "She seems to think she is far more sensible than me!"

Margaret took notice of the woman beside her then, dressed neatly and barely offering her a smile in greeting. Margaret knew Miss Latimer from the Thornton dinner party, that night that had changed so much. She seemed a fine young woman, accomplished and a graduate of a fine finishing school in Switzerland according to Mr Bell. For all her expensive education, Margaret thought she might be inclined to pretend to be polite, at least.

"How nice." Margaret said. "I was very surprised to see Mr Thornton here. I am visiting the Exhibition with my family."

"I did not even know you had left Milton, nobody said." Fanny sniffed.

"Oh, I suppose nobody takes much notice of what I do." Margaret said lightly, for it was true. "My mother wished me to visit on her behalf."

"Margaret."

"Henry." She gestured towards John. "This is Mr Thornton."

"Mr Thornton, all the way from Milton."

The men did not shake hands, and Margaret got the distinct feeling that they did not like each other very much. Indeed, she suddenly felt rather like a mouse caught between two angry cats, for the glares the two men fixed upon each other lacked only hissing to assert their dominance.

Mr Thornton's face had turned hard, his eyes narrowing as he observed Henry. Margaret regretted introducing them at all, for Henry looked upon Mr Thornton with nothing short of a sneer.

"My brother is interested in dabbling in cotton."

"I'm not sure I'd know how to dabble. If you'll excuse me, I'm needed back in Milton today."

Margaret watched in silence as he left, embarrassed by the poor impression her family had made. Really, they looked at him like he was some sort of animal rather than - what was he? A gentleman? She would never have made such an assessment just a few months prior, and she recognised just how wrong she had been. He was a man as worthy as any other.

She stared after Mr Thornton, not hearing the words said around her; she could have been alone in that great hall for all she knew, until Aunt Shaw took her arm and pulled her away from her own thoughts. Fanny and Miss Latimer bid them good day, leaving Margaret alone with her family.

"I am surprised your father has such a friend, my dear." Aunt Shaw sniffed. "Or should I say, I am _not_ surprised, for I do not think I know your father at all!"

"Mr Thornton is a good man." Margaret stated simply, turning her head once more so she might take in her surroundings.

She saw Mr Thornton in the distance, and as Miss Latimer looped her arm through his, Margaret turned away. She did not know why, but such a sight made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

A short while later, Margaret found herself at a stand exhibiting fine Spanish lace. She read the information printed neatly on cards in front of the fabric, picturing warm sunshine as she looked upon the intricate designs. And, as she always did when she thought of Spain even fleetingly, her mind turned to her brother. She swallowed heavily, wondering if Fred was on his way to England at this very moment. Oh, what if he had arrived already! She would miss him entirely! No, no it was too soon for him to have arrived, she told herself. It would take another week yet, at the very least.

"Miss Hale."

A deep voice from behind her made her jump, as though the person would be able to hear the thoughts of her brother's secret. She turned around. Mr Thornton was staring down at her, and she felt her cheeks flush. As fearsome as he could appear, he could certainly not read minds.

"Mr Thornton. I thought you had gone."

"No, there's something I need to do." He said. "It's kept me here longer than I intended."

"I am sure you are very busy. Please, don't let me keep you."

"I have a little time." He said stiffly.

He made no move to leave her; indeed, he stood perhaps a little too closely to her. She looked over her shoulder, concerned her aunt should appear and berate her quite thoroughly for talking to a man without a chaperone. There was no sign of Aunt Shaw or any or the others, so Margaret allowed herself to relax just a little in his company.

"I did not know you would be here." Margaret said. "I have not seen you for some time."

"I've been busy." He said. "I sent my apologies to your father, did he not receive them? I heard nothing back."

In truth, her father had felt rather melancholy about his favourite (or only, depending on how one looked at it) student's sudden absence. He had sent word to Mr Thornton after the first set of apologies, but had not responded to the subsequent three notes from Marlborough Mills. Mr Thornton was so busy after the strike, her father had decided that it would not do to pester him.

"I know. I - I thought perhaps you were no longer interested in your lessons." Margaret said, trying to keep any interest out of her voice. "Perhaps you know all there is to know about Plato now."

Her remark earned her a small smile. The room suddenly felt rather hot, which was strange as there had previously been a pleasant breeze. How odd.

"No, I am. Time is not something I have at the moment."

"Then we shall look forward to your return when you do have the time. Incidentally, I must ask that you do not make assumptions on my thoughts and impressions of Milton - and you. I will not pretend that I agree with all that you said. But you make your case with conviction, and that is to be admired. I certainly do not think you a man of low bearing."

"Thank you." Mr Thornton nodded. "I know we have not seen eye to eye on these matters, I thought you would be unhappy with what I had to say about the workers. I am sorry if I upset you with my comment. I meant no offense."

"I think perhaps you have misjudged me, Mr Thornton. I have always said that I try to see both sides of the situation, and I truly wish to understand it from your perspective as well." She paused, looking at him once more. "I truly did not expect you to be here. I cannot believe you are real."

Though her statement was a foolish one, there was no denying that it was true; to see him out of place here was most jarring indeed, yet somehow he fit perfectly into his surroundings. He spoke of his trade with knowledge and eloquence, his stature and confidence filling even this cavernous place.

"I can assure you Miss Hale, I am quite real." A tiny smile played on his lips as he stared down at her, and she felt her heart race slightly.

He looked at her, that smile still in place as he tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at the fabric she had been examining.

"You like this?"

"Very much. I wish to travel to Spain one day." Margaret said absently.

"Spain? Why there?"

When she realised what she had said, how much she had inadvertently revealed, Margaret jolted back to life, regaining control of her tongue and her senses.

"I have heard it is beautiful, with wonderful architecture. And the warmth would not be unwelcome."

"The Milton climate must be unpleasant for you." Mr Thornton said stiffly.

"Not unpleasant. Merely different. I am growing used to it with each passing day."

A strange sort of silence passed over them for a moment, and he fixed her with a stare that she could not escape. She swallowed, wondering if the room had suddenly increased in temperature or if the sudden heat she felt was from the burning of her own cheeks.

"Who is he?" Mr Thornton finally spoke.

"Who?" Margaret asked, heart hammering with fear.

He could not know that there was someone she wanted to see in Spain, it was impossible. There was no conceivable way he would know of Frederick's existence - unless, perhaps her father had made some kind of slip?

"Henry." The word was a sneer, distaste dripping in a way that could not possibly be more obvious.

Margaret exhaled a little too suddenly, the relief that he had not somehow guessed their secret. She shook her head, trying not to laugh at Mr Thornton's disgusted expression.

"He is my cousin's brother in law. He is my friend. I am pleased to see you have had plenty of company on your journey south, Mr Thornton. Fanny spoke so often of London. And Miss Latimer is with you too. I did not know you were so well acquainted."

"Her father is my banker. He wanted to see the exhibition. Miss Latimer asked to accompany him."

"And I do not blame her, for it truly is a marvel. I hope Miss Latimer has enjoyed it?" Margaret remarked, her eyes drifting to where Misses Thornton and Latimer stood. Both women were staring at her, rather unsubtly for when Margaret caught their eye, they both turned around like two naughty school children.

John turned to see what she was looking at, frowning as he turned back.

"I don't know."

"I thought the two of you might have discussed it. She seems most fond of you. Fanny made it clear how greatly your mother approves of her, and I know how much you value your mother's opinion."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing."

"Miss Latimer is the daughter of a business associate. That is all."

"It is of no concern to me, for you are free to associate with whomever you wish." Margaret said lightly, walking on to view another exhibit.

Mr Thornton followed her, reaching out to touch her arm as they stopped by a display of silk curtains. Margaret eyed the fabric with painfully feigned interest, for in truth she had no interest at all in curtains, no matter how finely produced.

"As are you. Though I thought you'd prefer a man with a brain in his head."

"John!" Margaret clapped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to giggle. "Mr Thornton, I can assure you Mr Lennox has a brain. I think. Sometimes."

His lip quirked up in the slightest smile, and Margaret felt her heart leap once more at the rare sight.

"Miss Hale, you do not know how pleased I am to see you. I have wanted to speak to you for some time."

His sudden admission caught her quite off guard, for he had never been so plain in his words before. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Once satisfied they could not be overheard, she turned back.

"You have been busy. I have had little spare time myself. My mother has needed me at home."

The mention of her mother made him stand a little straighter, and the concern she saw in his eyes touched her. For all that they had had their disagreements, she was coming to understand Mr Thornton as a man who did his best - his generosity towards her mother had not gone unnoticed.

"How is she?"

"She - she is tired." Margaret said, for she could not bring herself to admit just how quickly her mother's condition was deteriorating. "And disappointed to have missed her chance to see the exhibition, but she was unable to travel."

"I am sorry to hear it."

"Thank you."

"Margaret." His voice was lower now, the familiar tone that seemed to be reserved just for her. She had heard it on the night of the dinner party, as they had kissed in her hallway, in his office. Here it was again, the soft murmur that seemed to set her skin ablaze. "Margaret, tell me-"

"Margaret!" Margaret winced at the shrill sound that could only be her Aunt Shaw. "Margaret, here you are."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wander off. I was just, ah, looking at this."

"Well, dear, we best be going." She swept her eyes over Mr Thornton. "Good day, sir."

His face back to his stern mask once more, John nodded at both women before wishing them a good day and leaving.

"Goodness me, that man is most unfriendly! Are all men as such in Milton? It must be the most miserable place to live, for I do not believe such a man has ever smiled!"

"He is Papa's pupil, and a good friend to him. He shows Mama great kindness, and is a very well respected man in Milton." Margaret said, her eyes fixed on the retreating figure of Mr Thornton. "He is just serious by nature."

Aunt Shaw hooked her arm through Margaret's and led her away, still tutting.

"Well, I found him rather charmless. Now, have you seen everything?"

"I think I could stay here for days and still have much to look at." Margaret sighed wistfully. "But I suppose it's getting late."

"Yes it is. And we have guests for dinner."

Margaret smiled, cursing in her head. She was so tired, feet aching terribly from the long day and the uncomfortable shoes she was wearing. She certainly had no wish to chat idly with pompous members of London society for hours. She would return to Milton the next morning, and she found herself wishing she was instead returning at this very moment.

The next afternoon, as the September sun desperately tried to break through the clouds, Margaret was overjoyed to be back in Milton. She had arrived that morning, and found herself quite unexpectedly giddy to be back amongst the hustle and bustle of the city. When she had returned home, she had been disappointed to find her mother asleep. There had been so much to tell her, so much to describe! Yet Dixon had shushed her, telling her to save it for later.

Her mother eventually awoke well after midday, and was excited indeed to see Margaret. She lay in bed, her speech slow and slightly slurred.

"Good afternoon dear!" Her mother smiled. "I'm sorry I was asleep when you arrived home. I really am so terribly tired. Come, tell me everything about the Exhibition. Dixon has told me that the newspapers have said such wonderful things!"

Margaret sat down in the chair near her mother, holding the gifts she had brought from London in her lap. She did not know how to begin describing the wondrous things she had seen.

"Oh Mama! It was marvellous. I cannot do it justice, but I shall try! The sights, the sounds! The building itself, so light - I do not think I shall ever see another thing like it. I have brought you some things so you might have a little piece of it to keep."

"Oh good. I'm so glad you went, darling. You cannot stop smiling!" Each word grew quieter, the effort of each syllable clear to see in her face. "The change of scenery has done you the world of good, I think! I can see such a change in you. Tell me - if you wanted to go to London, to stay with your aunt.."

Margaret's smile slipped. She had no wish at all to live in London. She had spent enough of her life there, doing things she did not care for and minding her manners or holding her tongue lest she offend somebody or other. She certainly did not wish to leave her mother. She did not want to leave Milton at all. She felt panic surge through her, for Aunt Shaw would surely love nothing more than to steal her niece away from this place.

"No! No, Mama. I want to stay here. I would not leave you. Milton is not so bad; indeed, I found myself missing it while I was away."

"Well, I never thought I would hear that! I certainly wish there was some respite from the damp and the smoke." She shifted in her place, exhausted by the conversation already. "So, please tell me, my dear. What did you like the most?"

Margaret could scarcely think of what to discuss first, for the variety and splendour of the things she had seen overtook her all at once.

"There was the most enormous diamond! I am sure you have read about it but really, it was extraordinary to see it in the flesh. And the animals! There was so much to see, I cannot think where to begin! I wish you could have come too, Mama. Here, they were selling the sweetest souvenirs."

Margaret handed her mother an envelope which contained a strange little pop up picture that depicted the exhibition itself when you peered through a hole at the front. It was nothing like seeing it in person, of course, but it was the only way to bring a little piece of what she had seen to Milton.

Her mother cooed over the gift, delighting in folding it down and then watching it pop back up again. She held it up to her face, peering through the small square to see the pictures inside. When she had finished peering through, she lowered it with tears in her eyes. Though it was clear she was still exhausted, perhaps more so than when Margaret had left the smile on her face was genuine. Margaret gave her the second gift, a new fan in a pretty Oriental pattern.

"Well isn't this a nice sight! Afternoon, Miss Margaret."

"Good afternoon, Dixon."

"Dixon, you must see this!" Her mother beckoned. "It is marvellous!"

Margaret smiled as Dixon peered through the small window, happy that such a small token had brought joy to her mother. She had weakened in the time she was away - or perhaps the time away from her had only highlighted how much she had changed without Margaret realising. Margaret sighed, hoping once more that Frederick was making his way across the sea at this very moment.

"What's all this noise?" Her father asked, smiling as he took in the pleasant scene that greeted him. "Oh, how marvellous. Margaret, dear, how was it?"

She had not seen her father either; he had been out all morning. He looked tired, she thought. Had he always looked as such, and she had never noticed? It was strange, but a few days away from Milton had opened her eyes to so much.

"Wonderful, Father."

"I don't suppose you saw John there?" He asked as he sat down in his chair, unfolding his newspaper.

"Mr Thornton? Y-yes, I did. I was quite surprised to see him there."

"I heard from him just after you left for London, I did not have time to write to you but I had hoped you might happen upon him."

"People seemed interested in what he had to say, and in the machinery he was showing." Margaret said lightly, loathing the way her pulse quickened as she talked about him. "There was much to see in the way of fabric. Such patterns! Fine shawls from India, as though sunshine were woven in the very cloth."

"How delightful you make it sound." Her mother sighed wistfully. "So much excitement for one day!"

Margaret looked at her mother; her eyes were closed as she leaned back in her chair. Her shoulders sagged with fatigue, her mouth small as she gritted her teeth with pain evident in her face.

"You should rest, Mama."

Margaret excused herself from the room, returning to her bedroom. Frederick had still not responded to her letter, and she grew increasingly anxious with each passing day. What if he had not yet received her request? What if he had been caught in his passage from Spain? Her mind churned with every possible scenario until she felt quite sick with worry.

She spent the day walking, tidying the house, utterly lost in her own thoughts. Come seven o'clock, as she was reading in her usual chair, her father entered.

"Dear, would you join John and I tonight?"

"What?" She asked ineloquently, the book falling through clumsy fingers. "I mean, I did not know he had a lesson his evening."

"Yes, yes, he sent word yesterday. Did I forget to say? My memory is a little shaky I suppose! I know it is not perfect timing, as your mother does not seem well. She does not mind, she says. Well, he is coming in an hour."

As soon as her father had left, Margaret almost threw the book down and went with haste to her room. Peering in the mirror, noting a slight ink stain on her cheek and her hair unravelling rebelliously from her bun, she wished her father had given her a little more warning of their guest. Quickly taking her hair down, she paused as she wondered why she was giving so much thought to her appearance.

_You know exactly why, _her treacherous mind whispered. _You wish to look your best for him._

When he arrived, Margaret answered the door. Dixon was occupied with her mother, and her father found the stairs difficult.

Though she had only seen him a few days previously, it felt like far longer. It had been weeks since he had last been in their home, and his tall figure felt even more imposing in the darkness of the hallway.

"Evening, Miss Hale." He greeted her with a stiff nod.

"Mr Thornton. How nice to have you visit us again."

"Did you enjoy your time in London?"

Margaret nodded; though she had found staying with Aunt Shaw a little tiresome, there was no doubt that her time at the Exhibition had lifted her spirits and expanded her mind.

"Very much. And you?"

He shook his head, jaw tight.

"No, not particularly. I don't much care for it.. It was for business, not pleasure."

"I trust your sister enjoyed herself at least?" Margaret asked. "London suited her, I think."

"Aye, she hasn't stopped talking about it."

Margaret did not doubt that; in fact, she wondered if Fanny Thornton ever stopped talking at all.

"May I take your coat?"

He hesitated, his hand moving to rest over his coat. She frowned, confused as to why he would keep it on. He cleared his throat, not meeting her eye.

"Miss Hale - I hope you don't think me forward, but I have brought you something. A gift."

"Oh?"

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small square package, flat and wrapped in paper. He handed it to her wordlessly, and she frowned. Pulling at the wrappings, she stared down at the little bundle of material she held in her hands.

"You were admiring that Spanish lace." Mr Thornton said, seeming embarrassed as he explained the gift. "I bought a little from the merchant. I thought - I thought it would look nice as a collar."

"How thoughtful of you." Margaret ran her fingers over the impossibly delicate fabric in her hands. "Truly, how kind. Thank you. It is beautiful. I admired it very much, and it is just as fine as I remembered."

Folding the cloth back into its brown paper wrapping, Margaret looked up at the man who had given her such a thoughtful gift. His eyes were fixed on her, a nervous half-smile on his lips. It was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him look; for even though he was a man, confident and assured in so many ways, he reminded her of a nervous boy. It was endearing, really, that one so stoic might be reduced to nerves by merely giving a gift to a woman. She smiled in return, feeling a great sense of peace come over her. Perhaps the conflict between them, the confusion of these past weeks, had finally lifted and she could come to know the man he truly was.

Looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was lurking behind them, she stepped closer. Wishing she wasn't quite so short, or perhaps Mr Thornton wasn't quite so tall, she reached up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You're welcome." He said as she pulled away, and he reached out as if to touch her face before snatching his hand away. "I should go up."

"I will put this away and fetch the tea. Really, John. Most sincerely, thank you."

He nodded stiffly. Margaret swept away, before realising she had yet to take his hat or coat. When she turned around, his hand was resting on the cheek she had kissed. She smiled, for surely a peck on the cheek was nothing. He knew her more intimately than any man, yet he was cradling his cheek as though the brush of her lips against it had been the most wonderful thing in the world.

"I'm sorry." She said, and he flinched, hand sharply returning to his side. "I did not take your coat!"

"Quite alright, Miss Hale." If he was embarrassed, his voice did not betray it.

"You do not need to call me-"

"Margaret." Her name had never sounded so fine. "I am able to hang up my own coat."

"Of course. Let me - let me go and fetch the tea."

Some hours later, when Margaret's eyes had grown heavy and her mind disinterested, the lesson finally concluded. Her father had had much to say, seemingly making up for the time Mr Thornton had missed all in one night. Mr Thornton, though too polite to say anything, looked tired as well. He bid her father goodnight, and once again Margaret was left to show their guest to the door.

They stood in the dark doorway, the house silent around them as Mr Thornton put on his coat. Margaret stared at her hands as he did so, her heart thumping quite wildly against her ribs. She half wondered if he could hear it, though that was absurd, of course. If he was in a similar state, his manner did not betray it. When he was ready, he cleared his throat. Margaret blinked back to life, realising she was standing in front of the door and blocking his path.

She held out her hand, that greeting that she had not understood at first she now seemed to yearn for each time she saw him.

"Goodnight, Mr Thornton. Thank you again for the gift, it was very kind of you to think of me."

He smiled, the slight movement of his lips barely visible in the poorly lit hallway but as bright to her as if it was illuminated by the sun. He took her bare hand in his, the warmth of his skin against hers heating her very soul. He lingered for longer than was proper, but perhaps the blame lay at her feet. Her hand stayed tight in his, until his fingers laced through hers.

"I have had more time to think about my behaviour, and I am sorry for my harsh words to you in front of others. It was not fair."

"You have already apologised." Margaret frowned. "I considered the matter resolved."

"I know. I know that I have been hard on you Miss Hale. I have regretted my behaviour towards you for some weeks."

Margaret had no wish for another apology; they only ever seemed to lead to arguments. She did not want to argue, she did not want to spoil this moment of rare civility. This is what she wanted, to know him without tension between them or bickering. To know the man he was inside, beyond trade and without others dictating how he must behave. She wished to know him, exactly as he was.

"Sir, there is no need to-"

"I care for you."

"I know."

"Did you mean what you said on the street?" He asked. "Do you truly care for me too?"

"Mr Thornton-"

"John."

"I do not say that which I don't mean." She said simply, though the confession felt monumental to her in that moment. "I thought you would know that of me by now."

"Really?"

"Yes. I - I have thought of you often these past weeks. I have found myself missing your company."

"I have thought of you too." He murmured, in that voice that she had come to know was meant for only her. "Of little else, in fact."

His thumb ran over her knuckles, caressing her so gently that her breath caught in her throat. She was not sure when they had become so close in proximity, but his body was pressed against hers, his palm on the small of her back as he lowered his head.

"We cannot do this." She whispered, though her hand raised to his cheek, pressing against the skin she had already touched her lips to this very evening. "Not again."

"I love you." The words were a murmur as his lips met hers, any reply that she might have silenced by his kiss.


	9. Chapter Nine

They remained in that quiet embrace until Margaret's senses overtook her. Anyone could catch them here, for her father was not in bed yet and Dixon was still prowling around. Hot shame flooded through her as Margaret pulled away, as she realised she had behaved without a care for her reputation once more.

"You should go." Margaret whispered as they broke apart. "It is late."

_And it will not do for you to constantly be leaving here very late at night, no matter how innocent the pretence of your lessons here, _she thought. His mother was no fool, that much was certain, and her suspicions would only be confirmed by her son's repeated midnight returns home.

"May I see you tomorrow?" He asked, his thumb stroking at her jaw as he gazed down at her , a small smile tugging at his lips.

"I do not know if I can - Mama is not well." Margaret said, thinking of just how unwell her mother had seemed earlier that day. "I fear - I fear there is not much time left. I shouldn't have gone to London, I can't leave her again."

"I am sorry," He exhaled deeply. "Can I help in any way?"

Though her opinion of him had not always been as favourable as it was now (her swollen lips a testament to her improved consideration of him), she would willingly concede that he was a surprisingly generous man to those he considered friends. He had always been most kind to her mother and father; something that she would always be grateful for, no matter the nature of her own relationship with Mr Thornton.

"No. Thank you. I am very tired. It has been a long day."

That was certainly no lie; the journey back from London had been tedious, and the sudden decline of her mother had shaken her. She had had no time to adjust to the change in her, for the time spent in the company of others had been spent pretending that nothing was wrong. She wished to crawl into bed, to have time to come to terms with the fact her mother would soon be gone - and that her brother had still not come.

She could tell Mr Thornton none of that, and she was thankful that he asked no questions. Instead, he held her hand, bringing it to his lips. She watched him curiously, for despite all of the ways his lips had touched her, this felt strangely intimate. He straightened, her hand falling back to her side, and nodded his head.

"Of course. I will bid you goodnight."

He turned to the door, and with one final kiss, he was gone. Margaret closed the door behind it, pressing her weight against it. Despite the sorrow lodged deep in her heart at the loss that was surely soon to come, she felt something else too.

Hope.

She walked towards the stairs, and as she set foot on the first step, a heavy thudding noise sounded from the direction of the kitchen. She frowned-Dixon was still upstairs with her mother and could not have moved to the kitchen without first passing through the hallway. Surely Dixon would not have failed to notice her employer's daughter in a clinch by the front door, so there was no way it could be her currently crashing around in the kitchen. Margaret listened, waiting to see if the noise came again. It did, louder this time, and she realised it was not thudding at all, but a knock. Who could be knocking on the back door at this time of night?

She hurried in the darkness towards the kitchen, heart hammering against her ribs. As she walked towards the door, she picked up Dixon's rolling pin. She was sure any intruder would not do them the courtesy of knocking, so perhaps it was a little silly to arm herself in such a way.

Hesitantly, she edged the door open. Smoke hung thickly in the air outside, the streetlight doing little to illuminate whoever was there. Fear caught in her throat as she opened it wider, seeing a man standing with his face turned away from the door. She gripped the rolling pin tighter, though she kept it close to her side. But when the stranger turned to face her, she realised he was not a stranger at all.

"Is Mr Hale in?"

That voice could only belong to one man, the man she longed to see most in the world. She yelped with delight, before pulling him in off the street as quickly as she could manage.

"Frederick!"

She closed the door behind him, bolting it securely before pulling him to her in a firm embrace. He let out a huff of surprise, before laughing as he caught sight of the rolling pin still in her hand.

"What are you going to do with that, roll me to death?" He asked as his hands prised her makeshift weapon from her. He took her back into his arms, holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. She was surely clinging on just as firmly, her throat tightening as she tried not to cry with the pure relief of seeing him here. "Sister. I am so glad to see you. So very glad! How is Mother?"

"She is alive. She is as ill as could be, but she lives." Margaret looked at him in disbelief, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek, to make sure he was flesh and blood and not a figment of her wishful imagination. "I cannot believe you are here! We have had no letter!"

"I've travelled before it. You knew I would come, though?"

"Of course, but I did not dare to hope that it would be so soon!"

"Margaret?" Their father's voice called. "Did I hear the door?"

The worry that had consumed Margaret for weeks melted away when she caught sight of her father's face. Though she was not ignorant to the danger posed by having Fred here, there was no doubt in her mind that writing to him had been the right choice. The sight of her father, weak with emotion, embracing the son he had missed so much, confirmed that. If there was to be grief, let there first be love.

"My boy." Her father looked at his son with tear filled eyes, holding Fred's face tightly between his palms. "You're here. My boy."

"Father! Father, I've missed you!"

They sat down at the table, her father sitting beside his son and taking Fred's hand, gripping so tightly that Margaret could see the grimace on her brother's face. He said nothing, merely covering their father's hand with his spare one.

"How was your journey?" Margaret asked, for the lull in conversation unsettled her. She did not know why, but she felt the need to fill the silence.

"Fine." Fred smiled tightly. "I travelled under a false name. Nobody shall ever know I was here."

Her father's face faltered, and Margaret tried to soothe him.

"It will be alright, Father. We will be careful, won't we Fred?"

Fred nodded, his face betraying his uneasiness. Margaret wondered if she had asked too much of her brother; whatever trepidation she felt must have been nothing in comparison to the risk he had taken to travel here, to this strange town in a part of the country he did not know.

"Of course. I had to come, Father. I hope you understand."

"Yes, Fred. I understand, but please, do not leave this house, let nobody see you. No man knows you here, but we must still take great care."

"What's all this then?" Dixon stood at the door, looking down at the scene with a happy expression. "Rather late for visitors."

"Dixon!" Fred stood, a broad smile on his face. "You haven't changed at all."

"Look at you." She smiled, suspiciously watery eyed. "Your mother will be so pleased you're here."

"Is she sleeping, Dixon?" Margaret asked.

"Yes, Miss. She's been uncomfortable this evening, best let her rest."

They sat at the small table for what felt like hours, until the candles had run down and the room was bathed in darkness. Her father excused himself for bed, though Margaret and Fred remained. They whispered in the darkness, the joy at being reunited far too sweet to part for something as silly as sleep.

"Will she know me?" Fred asked during a lull in conversation. "Father and Dixon might be dancing around it, but she is dying, isn't she?"

Margaret stood, needing a moment before she could speak. She rummaged in a kitchen drawer for a new candle, finding the matches and lighting it. She set the candle down on the table, comforted by the sight of her brother's face in the shadowed light. She took her seat once more, her throat tight as she tried to speak.

"Yes. I thought my letter was clear, I am sorry if I-"

Frederick shook his head, chestnut curls which so closely resembled her own bouncing with the movement. She looked at him, taking him in. He had changed very little since she had last seen him, which surprised her. She had been expecting someone who looked far older than his twenty two years, for she had thought the stress of his situation would have aged him prematurely. Yet here he was, looking younger than she did!

"No. No, you were perfectly plain in your letter. I knew what to expect. I just - Father looks broken, Margaret. Do you not see it? His eyes are filled with sadness, he looks - frail. Frail, that is the word for it."

Margaret thought on this; she would not have called him broken. Fragile, maybe, but he had had much on his heart and his conscience to deal with. Perhaps he had just aged, for Fred had been gone for five years and much had changed in that time.

"He has had much weighing on his mind the past few years, Fred." Margaret took his hand. "I shall not lie to you. What happened to you devastated us all, and then the business with the church, Mama's illness - it has all been difficult for him."

"I am sorry to have caused such grief. If I could change things, if I could go back to that ship-"

Margaret held up a hand to stop him, for she could not bear to think of that awful business now. The danger was ever present in her mind, but she could not give it weight now. Let them pretend Frederick was simply here on a visit. Let the fact that, should he be caught, he would surely hang, disappear from their minds - just for tonight, at least. Tonight, he would be safe.

"No, Fred. You did the right thing, and I will never discredit your bravery. If only we could reason with the Navy, to make them see that you acted only out of honour." Margaret said, betraying the vow she had made in her own mind not to discuss it. She sighed heavily.

"Let's not talk about this now. What of you?"

"There is not much to say. It has not been easy to grow used to life here, for I've found the customs and etiquette to be quite different to London and Helstone. And it is colder, with far less greenery or pleasant things to see."

"The air here is wretched, sister - thick with smoke and dirt. I cannot imagine it has done much for Mother's condition. It cannot be good for her, or you, to breathe such filthy air. It seems a grim sort of place, even in darkness."

Margaret closed her eyes, too exhausted to hear Milton's failings listed out to her yet again. Her time in London had been spent in much the same way, and she was quite tired of it.

"Please Fred. Father did what he thought right. Things are not so bad." She braced herself on the table, pushing herself up with considerable effort, for her body felt heavy with fatigue. "Come, let me show you to your room. I had Dixon prepare it some weeks ago for your arrival."

"Thank you."

Fred followed her to his bedroom in silence, placing his small bag on the bed. She realised he was still wearing his coat.

"Let me take your coat and hat. Goodnight, Fred. Sleep well."

"Thank you. Goodnight, sister, and may God bless you."

She went downstairs, hanging his things on the coat hooks by the door. She leaned back against the wall, her heart heavy. For a moment, she thought of Mr Thornton, who not four hours ago had held her in her arms as though it was his divine right to touch her in such a way. He had told her he loved her, and each time she recalled his tender words, her cheeks grew hot.

No, she chastised herself, now was not the time to recall such a thing. Mr Thornton could not be allowed to come here again until it was safe. He could not know the truth of Fred nor that they harboured a wanted man under their roof; he was a magistrate, a man bound by duty to uphold the law.

* * *

The next morning, Margaret awoke thinking the previous day had all been a dream. Yet the sight of Fred, sitting by their mother's bedside holding her hand as she slept, confirmed that it had all been real.

"Good morning." Frederick whispered, darting his eyes to their mother to indicate she should be quiet.

Margaret sat in the chair on the other side of the bed, looking down at her mother. She looked peaceful in sleep, though the sound of her laboured breathing filled the room. She felt tears well up in her eyes, though she brushed them away before they could fall.

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't think I slept. I've been here for hours." Fred said softly. "She hasn't woken yet. Does she always sleep for so long?"

"She will wake soon." Margaret reassured him. "She will be so glad to see you, Fred. I know she will."

He glanced up at her.

"Did you sleep? You look exhausted."

She was not sure of the answer; she had lain awake in the dark, her mind racing with all the things that could go wrong in the next few days. Her heart felt heavy, her mind fogged with grief; she missed Bessy bitterly, and as the days passed sadness had given way to an anger that Margaret could not explain. Everything was so unfair, this place so harsh and unforgiving that nobody, no matter how young or good or kind, was spared.

"A little. There is a lot on my mind." She shrugged, straightening her mother's blankets.

In the light of day, Fred looked different. Last night, she had thought the shadows on his face were merely from candle light. Today, she could see that was not the case. He too looked exhausted, but in a way that could not be cured by rest. He looked tired to his very bones, the stress of these past years having left a map of all his troubles on his face.

"I am sorry you have been alone in this, Margaret. I know you, I know how much you would have taken on your own shoulders. I am here now."

"Thank you."

"Margaret?" Her mother's voice, weak and reedy, jolted them both. "F-Frederick?"

"Mama." His voice cracked, and at the moment Margaret thought he looked just like a little boy again. "It's me."

"Is it really?" Her voice was barely audible now as her tired eyes filled with tears. "I am not dreaming?"

She tried to sit up, and Margaret leapt to her feet. Steadying her mother, she adjusted the pillows to a sitting position. Fred stood also, holding their mother's hands and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I am so glad to see you." He murmured. "So very glad."

"I thought I would never see you again." Mother whispered brokenly, leaning back against her pillows and staring up into his face. "I thought you were lost to me forever."

Fred shook his head, pressing his lips together as he struggled to keep a hold of his emotions. Margaret knew him too well, even after all the years that had passed.

"I am here. I came as quickly as I could. I'm sorry, Mama. I'm so sorry."

Margaret slipped from the room, her eyes brimming as they seemed wont to do ever since Fred arrived. She leaned against the wall, breathing deeply in an attempt to quell the tears that threatened to fall. She must be strong; she was no use to anyone if she could not keep her composure. No, she would not cry.

As she took a deep breath, her father's footsteps sounded. She composed herself, hoping her eyes were not too red. It would not do for her father to see her upset, it would not do at all.

"Good morning, my dear."

"Morning, Father." She said, her voice falsely cheerful. "A lovely day."

He merely murmured a response, eyeing her strangely before he turned to the closed door of the room her mother occupied. He gestured towards it.

"Is your mother awake?"

"Yes. Fred is with her."

"Oh good. Dixon is just making tea. Will you join us?"

"Of course." Margaret nodded. "I will go and see if she needs any help. I know her knees are giving her bother lately."

A series of heavy knocks sounded, echoing through the house as Margaret's blood turned colder with each rap on the front door. Her father froze in place and they both held their breath. They looked at each other, fleeting panic clear to see on her father's face before he shook it away, the gentle smile she knew so well taking its place. He was lying to her, pretending that he was not as scared as she was that Fred would be discovered.

"Margaret, will you answer that my dear?"

"Yes, of course."

With each step, fear overtook her until the only thing left in her mind was terror. She was certain she would open the door to the police, come to take Federick away. Her mind told her it would just be Mary, come to start work for the day, but her hand trembled as she opened the door.

Her heart fell into her shoes.

"Mr Thornton. I was not expecting you." Her voice trembled, and she swallowed heavily. She said his name rather more loudly than was perhaps needed, hoping her father would overhear and know that there was nothing to worry about. Forcing a smile on her face so as not to arouse suspicion, she straightened her shoulders.

"I am sorry for intruding. I have brought some fruit for your mother in the hopes it might please her."

Behind him, Mary Higgins walked past on her way to the back door.

"Mary!" Margaret called, and Mary Higgins looked up at her and Mr Thornton with an expression of a mouse pinned by a cat. "Mary, would you please` take these into the kitchen?"

If things were as usual, she would want nothing more than to bring John inside, to introduce him to Fred and hope that the pair got on. As much as she had denied it to herself, she was coming to hope that her future would include Mr Thornton. Most sincerely indeed. However, now was not the time for romantics. The crux of it was that Mr Thornton, however personally she may have come to know him, was a magistrate. Nobody could know of Fred's return to England, but especially not this man.

While she certainly did not believe he would want to intentionally cause her family harm, she did not doubt his integrity. Even if she did not tell him the nature of Frederick's absence, or perhaps even pretended they were not related, it was still too dangerous. Frederick resembled her most strongly, and it would be a tall stretch of the imagination to pretend they were in no way related.

"Miss Hale, are you quite well?" He asked. "You seem a little out of sorts."

"Yes, of course! Quite well, thank you sir. There is much to be done, as you can imagine. My mind is elsewhere, I apologise."

His eyes moved to glance behind her, and Margaret turned to see what he was looking at. Whatever it was had made his expression harden and lips draw tightly together, and as she caught sight of it too she realised why. Fred's hat and coat, which were generic enough to belong to any man, were in the entrance way.

"Excuse me, I see you already have company . I did not intend to intrude. Good day to you, Miss Hale."

"No! No, indeed there is nobody here."

At that moment, several peals of laughter sounded from the upstairs window; her mother's (a welcome sound Margaret had heard all too little of lately), her father's and - Fred's. There was no denying now that there was another man inside the house. Mr Thornton frowned, his shoulders straightening as he tipped his hat to her.

"Good day, Miss Hale."

Oh, how frustrating this was! If only she had had the foresight to claim a visit from some doctor or other, someone who would arouse no suspicion at all. No, she had been too consumed by her nerves to think of an excuse, instead denying the presence of another man in the house at all. That looked far more suspicious than anything else. She watched as he walked away, his shoulders hunched as he shoved his hands furiously into his pockets. She could not help herself from calling after him.

"Please, Mr Thornton, know that you are always most welcome here."

Despite the volume of her voice, which was far too loud and improper for such a busy street, he had apparently not heard her for he did not turn back. She stepped into the house, feeling hot humiliation crawl up her neck. She had lied to him, and he had caught her in that deception within moments. What must he think of her now?

Sighing, Margaret turned and closed the door - wishing desperately that the circumstances of her brother's visit were different. There were so many things that she wished were different.


	10. Chapter Ten

Margaret closed the door and walked slowly up the stairs. Surely he would not think much of what had just happened - after all, hadn't she made her feelings for him quite clear not a week prior? When he had caught her in her lie, the hurt on his face was undeniable - and she had caused that. She did not wish to hurt him, nor lie to him at all. And yet she had, and with alarming ease.

"Who was that, my dear?"

Margaret sat back beside Frederick, a tight smile on her face as she tried to regain her composure.

"Mr Thornton, Father. He brought some fruit for Mother, and asked after her health."

"How kind." Her mother said softly. "Such a kind man."

"Mr Thornton?" Fred asked. "Who is he?"

"A mill owner. He is one of Father's pupils." Margaret said quickly, wishing to keep the explanation as short and unemotional as possible.

Margaret silently cursed herself; why had she said that there was no visitor? A woman near the end of her life had cause for visitors, so such a thing would arouse no suspicion. Instead, Margaret had acted more suspiciously by so strenuously denying it. What must he think?!

"What use does a mill owner have with Plato?" Fred asked, his nose wrinkling. "Such company you keep, Father! Tradesmen calling at the house at all hours."

"He is a good man." Margaret said hurriedly, her cheeks burning as she realised just how quickly she had leapt to John's defence. "You would like him if you could know him, I am sure of it."

"I am not sure I have ever heard you speak of John so kindly, my dear!" Her father chuckled. "I think our Margaret has given him quite the challenge on more than one occasion."

"Oh?"

"It is nothing." Margaret said firmly, taking a seat next to Fred. "I - I have found myself taking an interest in better understanding the people who are in the employ of the mills, and Mr Thornton and I do not see eye to eye on certain matters. That is all."

Fred frowned.

"What a strange life you lead here, sister."

Margaret stiffened, stung by his unintentional barb. She looked towards her mother, thankfully sleeping, and shrugged.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll help Dixon with the tea."

She left the room, glad to be alone for a moment. She smoothed down her hair , and took a deep breath. Mr Thornton did not matter now; nothing mattered except her mother. She grew weaker with every passing moment; even in the short time Margaret had been downstairs, she seemed to lose a little more of herself. How cruel death was, to suck life away so slowly, forcing others to look on so very helplessly.

The day passed quietly; Fred and Margaret sat together by their mother's bedside while she slept. They spoke softly, but spent most of the time reading or consumed in their own thoughts. Their father drifted in and out, as well as Dixon, but nobody said anything much. They were all too aware that the end was coming - and coming soon.

Margaret thought, as she so often did, of Bessie. She had not had the luxury of a doctor, nor of a warm, clean house. She had not even had her family around her when she passed. She felt her throat tighten as she thought of her most dear friend, truly gone from this world forever. It did not feel real that her mother would soon be gone too.

And yet that dreadful moment came far too quickly.

The next day, Margaret sat with Frederick in the drawing room, both of them snatching a rare chance to be alone together as Doctor Donaldson was in with their mother. It felt strange to be with her brother once more, as though things had momentarily returned to how they used to be before Fred left, before everything had changed forever.

Fred paced the floor, restless. He had been most unsettled these past few days; it was to be expected of course, but Margaret had seen just what a different person he was from the boy she remembered. He was harder, she thought, sharper with his words.

"What was Father thinking, bringing you both to a wretched place like this?"

"Sit, Fred. Really, it is not so bad. I have grown used to it. Please, sit. Let us not talk of unpleasant things; tell me about Cadiz. Tell me about your life - you have hardly said a word about it."

"I am trying not to think of it, in truth. But I suppose - I am happy, sister. Is that wrong, that I should find happiness after causing you all so much heartache?"

"You did nothing wrong, Fred. Any heartache we suffered was by the cruelty of the Navy, not you. We are proud of you."

"What little there is to be proud of."

"You have friends in Cadiz?" Margaret asked. "And work that you enjoy?"

"Yes. Yes, I have many friends." He exhaled. "There is - there is someone that is very special to me. A woman."

"Oh?" Margaret asked, leaning forwards. "You've made no mention of her in your letters."

"I did not wish to tell you until I was certain that she cared for me too. But I have decided, when I return to Cadiz, I shall ask her father for her hand. I cannot waste another second. I have seen how precious life is, I cannot go a moment longer without telling her just how I feel. Oh, if you could meet her! You would love her, I am certain of it."

Margaret was dazed by his words, this frank confession of love for a woman she would likely never meet. His words, so earnest in their sentiment, struck her. How precious life is. How little time there is to be wasted - how pointless it is to hide one's feelings. She inhaled sharply, her own mind whispering to her that he was right - that she was hiding her own feelings just as astutely, as though time was hers to waste.

"Tell me about her. It would do us good to talk of happy things."

Just as Fred opened his mouth to speak, the door opened. The siblings turned to see Dixon standing in the door, her eyes bright with tears and her hands clutching a handkerchief. Silently they rose, and followed her in to the room where their mother lay dying.

* * *

It was strange, that a house so full of people should somehow feel so empty. Her mother was gone from this world forever, her body lying in rest. Margaret could not cry. Tears threatened to well in her eyes, her chest tightened and throat constricted and yet - nothing. She felt numb, exhausted to her very marrow. She sat staring at the same page of a book for hours, thinking nothing - feeling nothing.

The funeral arrangements were set for a few day's time. Despite Margaret's concerns, Fred was determined to attend. It felt a needless risk; though he had a false name and an entire history created to hide his identity, he would still be seen in public.

"Nobody knows me here." He reasoned, scrubbing at his face as he grew increasingly frustrated. "Margaret, what is the harm? You would ask me to not attend my own mother's funeral?"

"I-" Margaret shook her head. "I don't know, Fred. It feels like we have been lucky so far. Mother would certainly not wish you to come to harm on her account. You know that."

Margaret's fears, however, were proved to be correct, when Dixon came home ashen-faced from the grocer's the next day. She burst into the drawing room still dressed in her outdoor clothes, her hands still clutching at her basket.

"Master Frederick." Dixon said breathlessly, her eyes widened panicked.. "I just - just-"

"Dixon?" Margaret stood, taking her basket from her and leading her to sit. "What is the matter?"

"I've seen Leonards."

Margaret frowned, the name familiar but not one that she could place. She thought through all of the people she knew here, yet she could still not match a face to the name Dixon offered.

"Who?"

"From Helstone." Fred finished before Dixon had the chance to. His voice was dull, his face flat and jaw slack. He looked utterly defeated.

Margaret's stomach plummeted, her hands tightening around Fred's arm.

"What is he doing here in Milton?" Margaret turned to Dixon.

"He lives here now. What are the chances of that?!" Dixon exclaimed. "I pretended I was here on a visit, Miss, so that he would not know you are here. I didn't like him then and I don't like him now, Miss Margaret. A troublemaker, always has been."

"He might not remember..." Margaret began, though her hope was snatched away as Dixon shook her head.

"Oh, he remembers." Dixon said darkly. "He was talking about it to me, he remembers there was trouble with Master Frederick…"

That was all Margaret needed to hear. She turned to her brother, grasping both his hands so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"You must go Fred."

"What?! No!" He shook free of her grip, and stepped away from her, his expression furious. "What do I care if this man knows me? Dixon said he does not even know you live here!"

"Fred, though I cannot claim we have a great many friends here, our names are at least known. If someone mentions Hale to him, he would surely make the connection between us. Then, if he saw you.."

"If I get caught, I shall stand my ground. I do not see why I must leave before the funeral! Chased away by some drunk who may possibly not even know my face!"

"No." Her father spoke from the corner, his voice weary and thin. "You seem to think a Court-Martial is a place where justice is served. You must leave, you cannot risk being seen."

"Father, there must be something we can do! I know a lawyer, he is honourable, and clever I think. He would help Fred, I am certain of it. Henry Lennox... Father, you know him."

"Is that Edith's brother-in-law? That could work. I could write to him with details of the ship, and the crew.."

"Write to Henry if you must, but do not keep Fred in England!"

Margaret knew that her father was right. They could not risk Fred being identified; a bounty still rested on his head, and a man such as Leonards would be greatly interested in such a prize.

"Father's right." She said out loud, earning a look of betrayal from her brother. "You must leave on the night train. Go to London, then onto Dover. You must leave, Fred, as quickly and as quietly as you can."

"You think this man would know me?" He scoffed. "From what I recall of him, he was a drunk and a nuisance. Have the passing years changed him much? Would the word of a drunk hold weight here?"

"Fred, please!" Margaret begged. "See reason! Your safe passage back to Cadiz is all that matters. If anything should happen to you.."

"Fine." Fred gritted out, his expression softening as he looked over at his father, his face lined and exhausted by grief. Perhaps it had finally dawned on her brother that he could not be the cause of any further devastation. "I will leave. Tonight, as you say."

"I will go with you." Margaret said. "I will see that you are safely on the train."

Her father said nothing, merely slumped back in his chair. Margaret turned to Fred.

"Go and pack your things. The last train leaves at eleven, I believe. I will find a carriage to come and collect us around half past ten." Margaret said, her worlds babbling together as she concocted the plan out loud. "I am sorry Fred, but we must."

The carriage Margaret had arranged drew up just as the clock chimed to signify half past the hour. Her heart hammered in her chest as she and Fred climbed inside and made their way to Outwood station in tense silence.

Each jolt of the carriage, each heavy thud of the horse's hooves as they slowed down made Margaret's heart race just a little faster. She would not feel safe until she received the letter from Frederick saying he was safely returned to Spain.

"Stop fidgeting, sister." Frederick scolded her, reaching forward and putting a steadying hand on her knee. "You are driving me quite mad with your foot tapping."

"I'm sorry." Margaret said, forcing her feet still. "Fred, are you glad that you came? Did I do the wrong thing asking you here? It did place you in danger..."

"I would not have come if I thought the risk too great. I thought of Mother so often. To not see her before she died..I would never forgive myself. When your letter arrived, I knew I would risk anything to see her again. To see you all."

"Oh Fred. Will we ever see each other again?"

"You could come and see me. You would like Spain; the climate would suit you."

"Maybe one day." Margaret smiled, warmed by the thought, as she imagined she could already feel the sun on her skin. "I hope for that."

They arrived at the station. It was dark, and mercifully deserted. Margaret paid for the ticket, her hands trembling as she handed over the money . She willed herself to be calm, but very sound made her jump, every distant shout made her heart beat faster in her chest. She clutched the ticket to her as she left the ticket office.

Fred was waiting for her on the platform, hidden in shadows as he looked around. Finally, after all his bravado, she could see fear in his eyes. He had spent days dismissing her concerns, yet now she could see that he shared them too.

The train whistle sounded, piercing the cold night air. Margaret looked at her brother, studying each part of his face to commit his likenessto memory.

"I must go." He said sadly, squeezing to her hands. "But I cannot bear it."

"You must go."

"A minute more."

She smiled as he pulled her closer to him, embracing her tightly. She clung to him, knowing that this might be the last time she ever had the chance. They could talk of Spain, but the likelihood of such a thing happening was slim. Each time he received foreign visitors, a little more attention would be drawn to him. Indeed, if her name was seen on a ship's manifesto travelling towards Cadiz..perhaps she was being overcautious, but she could not risk her brother's safety again.

She pulled away, and as she did so she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She felt the weight of eyes on her, as strange as it sounded to admit such a peculiar sensation. It was as though she was being burned, and when she turned she realised whose gaze she had felt so intently upon her back.

John.

Gone was the soft expression with which he had come to regard her with. Instead, utter fury, contempt and disgust were etched on those stony features as clearly as if they had been cut into marble. Her heart, racing impossibly fast already, came to a stop as her eyes locked with his.

Then, he was gone.

"What a scowl that man has! Who is he?"

"Mr Thornton. And something has happened to make him scowl so."

The whistle sounded once more.

"Fred, you really must go. Write to me, please, when you are safely home."

"God keep you, Margaret! I will write to you as soon as I can."

"Hale?" A voice rang out, "Is that you?"

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut.

She did not need to look to know that it would be the man Dixon had seen. His accent was Southern, and she shoved Fred forward blindly away from the sound and towards the train, bumping him into the door.

"Hale?" The man called again. "It is you, isn't it?"

"I'm not..I'm not Hale.." Fred protested.

With clumsy, unsteady steps Leonards stumbled towards them. He was obviously drunk, the smell of cheap whiskey coming off him in waves. Margaret's stomach churned at the stench of it. She stepped in front of her brother, shoving him backwards towards the train carriage. Still Leonards advanced, the smell of alcohol on his breath . He grabbed at Fred's arm, trying to yank him forward.

"Go." She hissed under her breath, turning so that she might push him more effectively. Fred stood, frozen with fear. She shoved him harder, willing his feet to move. "Go, Fred!"

"Where you goin', Hale?" Leonards taunted.

"What's going on?"

Margaret's breath left her in one swoop, her hands still frantically shoving at her brother. She turned to find Mr Thornton standing before her. He towered over Leonards, his imposing form intimidating and reassuring in equal measure. Leonards stumbled back, though he puffed up his chest.

"This man-" Leonards began, until John raised a hand to stop him.

"I don't know who you think he is, but he's my associate." John stepped forward. "You're Jane's fiance, aren't you? Get out of here and sober up, you're a disgrace shouting at decent folk like this. Leave now before I summon the authorities."

"Your associate, is he? And what's the lady doin' out so late at night then?" Leonards asked, raising his eyebrows and jerking his head at Margaret. "Seems very odd,if she ain't connected to this man. If this man isn't who I think he is, if this woman isn't Miss Margaret Hale from Helstone like what I think she is..."

The station guard gave a whistle, and John walked forwards, taking Leonards with him whether the man liked it or not. Margaret turned, mouthing silent goodbyes to her brother as he boarded the train and slammed the door shut. Her heart thudded so hard it felt like her ribs might break.

As the train pulled away, she buried her face in her hands. She did not know where Mr Thornton or the man that had shouted the truth so very loudly had gone. The steam from the train swirled around her, filling her lungs until she was left coughing and sputtering on the platform.

She needed to get ahold of herself, to leave this place before somebody else saw her. What had she been thinking? If Frederick had come alone, he might never have been noticed. This was her fault.

"Margaret." John's voice came in her ear, his hand on her back as he steered her forwards without her consent. "We need to leave at once before anyone else sees you."

She allowed him to guide her out of the station, into the darkness.

"I have a carriage waiting." She said. "I will be fine getting home by myself."

"I'm coming with you."

"Please, there is no need-"

"The Devil there isn't. Go."


End file.
